Matthew sighed as he tried in vain to grab his boss's attention. He really never should have taken on this job. I mean, really, he was going to categorize everything in this whole museum? When no one seemed to see him? Sure, the actual organization and such would be easy, but getting payed for it? Mm, not so much.
"Sir?" he asked yet again, clutching the small polar bear stuffed animal in his pocket. He could never remember it's name. Kuhiro? Kumashi? His boss just kept walking along the hallway, whistling to himself. Matthew sighed. He hoped this wasn't going to be like the last time, when he had spent nearly an hour trying to get the man to notice him. It didn't help that his boss was nearly deaf anyways.
"Sir-you know what, never mind!" he turned and stormed away, back to the museum basement where he would begin his work, though he hadn't been paid for the last couple of days. Perhaps he would call his brother over and have him talk to his boss, since everyone seemed to be able to see Alfred. A small pang of loneliness went through Matthew, but he pushed it back down. It didn't matter. It's not like he was sad people could only see Alfred. It didn't bother him. Not at all.
He paused at the door to the stairs leading to the storage room, feeling a strange pang of fear, as he always did. He didn't really believe in things like ghosts or aliens, but he just couldn't deny that the basement was dank, dark, and creepy, and he just got a terrible feeling whenever he walked down the stairs. He grabbed the torch that was hanging off of the nearest wall and clicked it on before opening the wooden door, dark with age. It's hinges creaked awfully as he swung it open, and he cringed at the sound. He took a deep, steeling breath before slowly descending the stairs. He kept to the right side, which had a wall, while the other side had nothing more than a flimsy-looking wooden rail. The stairs creaked with every step and Matthew barely resisted the urge to turn and run back up them. God, this basement was so creepy!
Suddenly, a loud pounding came from underneath the stairs. Matthew somehow held in a scream while managing not to fall down the stairs. He reached into his pocket and grabbed his little Kumahara and squeezed it tightly, then stumbled down the last five or so stairs, heart racing. He frantically swung the torchlight around and found the light switch, flicking it on. One dim, naked bulb hanging from a string burst into bright yellow light, then immediately faded to flickering gold that was about as effective as a stationary candle. But, despite all that, the slight light filled him with relief, and he let himself lean lightly against the wall and try to slow his breathing. This basement made him the most scared he had ever been in his life, though he wouldn't have admitted it to anyone, especially not Alfred, who would have held it over him for a long time.
Once he had regained himself, Matthew got to his feet and made his way, torch in hand, to the right, where the artifacts he was now working on lay. He pulled a couple of big, overflowing cardboard boxes into the small, sickly-looking light that fell around the lightbulb in a rough circle. He sat down on the cold stone floor and set the torch on the ground, flicking it off, before pulling one of the boxes towards him. He grabbed his little notebook and clicked his pen open and was just about to start looking through the contents of the box when the scary banging noise came again. This time a small shriek was pulled from his unwilling throat, and it made him rather angry-well, as angry as he could get. He picked up the torch, got to his feet, flicked the switch and stomped around the stairs, completely ready to bash the rather heavy torch down upon some stupid intruders head. He nearly lost his nerve when another loud bang came, but he swallowed his fear and stormed under the stairs, swinging the flashlight around like some sort of lightsabre. And there, hiding beneath the stairs was...
...Absolutely nothing.
A wave of relief swept over him so hard that he nearly dropped his torch. What had he been so worried about before? He could hardly even remem-oh wait, it was a strange banging noise. He frowned. Where had that come from? He slowly let the torchlight pan across the large, grey stone blocks that made up the walls of this basement, searching for... well, searching for something.
Just as he was about to leave another large bang sounded. This time, he was prepared for it, and he turned to look in the direction it came from, near the corner between the back and side walls. There was a stone block sticking out a couple centimetres. Matthew stared at it suspiciously, wondering if it would jump out at him if he went too close. Finally, he decided he would take a risk for once in his boring life, like his popular, American brother. He walked over, set the torch face-up on the floor, then gripped the sides of the heavy stone block and yanked. It barely budged. It was about twenty-five centimetres across and fifteen tall. He had no idea how deep but, really, it shouldn't be quite this heavy, should it? He yanked once more, and this time it seemed to be loosened and moved at least a centimetre or two. He sighed, pulling his hands away from the stone to wipe them off on his trousers, then grabbed the block again and pulled. The block slid all the way out of the wall and it was all Matthew could do not to drop it on either his torch or his foot. He managed to turn to his left before he dropped it, heart-beating fast with surprise. What the maple? Why had it suddenly popped out like that?
Shrugging, Matthew dusted off his hands and turned to the hole in which the block had been residing. He grabbed his torch and peered in. The light reflected off of something metallic, blinding him for a moment. When he finally got his vision back he saw that something had been hidden behind the stone block, something the color of old gold, something beautiful and wonderful, something that inspired a feeling of wonderment and magic in him. Kind of. You see, it was an old, rusty-looking tin tea pot. Matthew felt a sudden thrill of disappointment. He didn't quite know what he had been expecting, but when he saw that almost lamp-shaped metal something, he had thought that it was... well, it didn't matter. What it truly was was some rusty old piece of junk, and though he had no idea why it was hidden behind a wall, he reached out and grabbed it anyways. It was cold, though not quite as cold as he had expected from a random metal teapot found behind a stone wall in the middle of a Canadian Autumn. He brought it nearer to his face for a more in-depth inspection. It was cloudy with age, and he pulled his sleeve over his hand and began gently polishing it's surface. He waited with bated breath, hoping that maybe a genie would pop out, like he had first hoped. He stayed there for nearly five minutes like that, waiting while trying not to breathe, but nothing happened. With a sigh, he took the small teapot to the little bag he had brought with him and shoved it inside, then settled down to finish his archiving.
Matthew walked back home in the rain, hugging his coat more tightly around himself. He should've called for a cab, but it was late and all he wanted to do was get home and take a shower. Plus, it hadn't been raining when he was just leaving, and now he was too far out to stop.
He sighed as he trudged along. He should get a car. But he didn't like cars. And he didn't like walking. And he didn't have any money. And there was the rent for his apartment to worry about. He wondered what it was like to be his brother, who was famous and rich and, well, not invisible. Was it nice to be not invisible? Matthew didn't know. He was always looking for that one person who would always be able to see him, and a few times he had though he found the one, but then they met his brother and everything went downhill...
Alfred was a relationship destroyer.
Wait, no! He was not! He just... tended to get in the way of all of Matthew's relationships.
Exactly. Relationship. Destroyer.
Matthew shook his head to clear it of both his thoughts and the rain as he finally reached his apartment building. He walked nearly silently up two sets of stairs, darting out of the way whenever someone else came up or down so as to avoid getting run over. When he reached his apartment, number 215, he opened the door, walked in and was about to throw his bag on the sofa when he remembered the little teapot. He gently took it out and then threw his bag onto the sofa. He cupped the small teapot lovingly in two hands. Sure, no genie had come out when he had polished it, like it happened in the stories, but there was still something magical and mysterious about it, something that made him want to keep it forever and make up stories about genies that could have lived in it, once, a long time ago, perhaps.
Matthew sighed and set the teapot carefully on the counter. He should have just left it in the basement. But, it was so beautiful, and magical, and just gave him hope, for some reason.
He left the room and detoured to the bathroom, taking a long, warm shower before dressing in his warmest, fuzziest polar bear pajamas. He felt so comfortable that he just wanted to lay on the sofa, turn on a shitty chick flick that he knew would have him in tears at some point, then fall asleep. His stomach growled and he giggled softly. He was hungry for maple syrup.
Matthew set about making supper. He wasn't sure what he wanted except that it should have maple syrup on it, and so he decided on crepes. He liked crepes, especially when they had freshly cut strawberries, whipped cream, and lots and lots of maple syrup on them. He didn't have any of that except the syrup, but they would still be good.
He hummed as he worked, cracking eggs and whisking things and all that goodness. He poured batter onto a frying pan and broke into song as he waited for it to cook. "Oh, the sun'll come out, tomorrow! Betcha bottom dollar that tomorrow, there'll be suun." He had no idea where he'd heard that song before, but he liked it. It was a sunny antidepressant, and it was a lot cheaper than most.
He flipped the thin pancake over, then moved it to a plate when it was done. He began making another one then moved to the fridge to find some sort of fruit or something to put inside it. Let's see, he had, hm, an apple, oh, a couple bananas and-were those raspberries?! He smiled happily, turned and flipped over the second crepe and then began cutting fruit and piling it into the two crepes. When he was done he smothered them both in as much maple syrup as was on the edge of reasonable then went to the kitchen table to eat. Ahh... maple syrup. Some people liked chocolate, but only Matthew knew the truth: maple syrup is the only thing that helps on a bad day. No matter what happened, have some maple syrup, plain or with toppings, and you'll feel better instantly.
The next day was the same as usual: get up, get dressed, brush teeth, fix hair, pretend like it mattered what he looked like when no one ever saw him, try to remember his bear's-Kumajirisa? Camaro? Wait, was that a car?-name, and then leave for work early, before the stairs became full of traffic. He stopped by a small cafe to get a coffee and a maple syrup scone-not as good as it could be, but oh well-as he walked, humming that song to himself again. He had long ago figured out that if he hummed a bit while walking, people would avoid him, almost as if they could actually hear him, even though that was impossible.
He threw his breakfast away in a random trash can before entering the museum and beginning the same ritual he always did with his boss. He walked into the office, tapping softly on the door. "Sir?" he asked hesitantly. His boss ignored him, whistling some slow, dramatic tune while holding his two index fingers about five centimetres from each other. Matthew could see even from outside the room that they were both wearing what looked like skirts and had faces drawn onto them. Oh, good lord. Was his boss really doing this? Was he really so lonely that he had started playing lesbian with his fingers? Had he meant that to sound so wrong?
Feeling near tears, Matthew turned and headed straight towards the basement, not sure if he was going there to die or to archive.
When Matthew finally got home, he was cold, tired, depressed, and all he wanted to do was crawl underneath his bed and die. Why was his life so horrible? Why couldn't anyone see him? Fuck!
He was just about to sprawl onto the sofa and watch some really depressing movie that would get him in the mood to go out to a bar and get completely drunk when the door to the bathroom opened. He turned to see a tall, lithe man walking out of the bathroom while toweling off his hair. Matthew's mouth dropped open. He felt like the world had just torn itself in two right in front of him, then skipped off in two different directions while laughing like Pippi Longstocking. As if a strange, sexy man walking out of his bathroom-his bathroom!-wasn't enough, the man was completely naked, except for the towel on his head. Matthew felt dizzy as he took in his broad-ish shoulders, his thin waist, his gorgeous hips and-oh, let's not go there. He leant against the wall and closed his eyes, trying to coax his lungs into breathing again.
"What the maple is happening..." he muttered quietly to himself, putting a hand to his forehead. "I must be dreaming..."
"Hm? Ohonhon, you have come home! And at a most opportune time!" cried the man who had just walked out of his bathroom. "I was just going to begin making something to eat, after I had found some clothes of yours that would fit me, of course."
Matthew opened his eyes and tried to keep them trained on the man's face and not his... "Can you-!" Matthew squeaked. He stopped, took a deep breath, then started again. "Can you please put on some pants?" he asked nervously.
The man gave him a lascivious look which included an extremely sexy arched eyebrow. "Why? Do you find it distracting?"
"Y-y-y-yes!" And there was the squeak, back again. And this was why Matthew never went home with the guys he met at bars-his embarrassing squeak! What was with it, anyways?
"Oh, good, because I don't want to be living with a straight man, though it can be fun to break them." The man finally removed the towel from his head, revealing curly, shoulder-length blond hair and probably the most gorgeous face Matthew had ever seen. Blue eyes, noble cheekbones-even that slight stubble on his chin just made him look somehow extremely aristocratic and romantic and erotic, which made Matthew blush and look away.
"Wh-wha-what are you doing in my apartment?" he managed to say, trying to calm down. Holy crap this guy was turning him on so bad.
"You don't know? Ohon, mon cheri, I came with that teapot you found in the basement of the museum! Did you not know of me? I would have thought you did, since you knew to make crepes so soon after my arrival!" The man stretched in a distracting way, towel still gripped only in one hand. "Ah, it feels so good to be back in my body again!" he exclaimed happily.
"Wait, what? Teapot? Crepes? B-body? That's it. I can't do this anymore." Matthew got to his feet and stomped to the small cupboard that he had in his kitchen, opening it to reveal nine or ten huge bottles of maple syrup. "I"m going to drown my sorrows in syrup." he murmured, reached for the first bottle. He uncapped it, took a swig, and immediately felt worse. Oh, maple, this wasn't going to work. He took another swig. Nope. Not potent enough. He'd need to mix it with something.
"Is that maple syrup?" asked a curious, breathy voice against his ear. He jumped nearly three feet into the air, whirling around to find the man standing behind him, still naked!
"I'm dreaming," he told the man, leaning back against the cupboard behind him and wishing he could sink through the floor and all the way into hell. "Naked men don't just come out of teapots when you make crepes, and they certainly don't look as sexy as you do." Matthew groaned and put his head in his hands. "I need something to drink..."
The other man's grin seemed to permeate the air in the room. "Now that, mon cheri, is something I can fix!"
Twenty minutes later, Matthew was sitting in on a barstool with a strange mix of some sort of alcohol and maple syrup wondering when exactly his life had gotten this strange. The strange blond man was sitting next to him, holding a random glass of wine and attracting stares from everyone, everywhere. People would stop to peer through the windows in the door leading into the bar just to get a better look at him.
"So, you're a genie?" Matthew asked, feeling a little bit sick. He took a small sip of his strange drink and wondered what he should do now. Was he schizophrenic? Should he go see someone? Ask for some medication? But wait, everyone else could see this strange, intensely attractive man-genie-creature-whatever, right?
"Yes!" the man said, taking a sexy sip of wine-was everything he did sexy? "I am a genie! I've been hidden in a rusty old teapot behind the stupid rock for years, mon petit Canadien, and it was your touch that woke me up!" Matthew nearly spit his drink all over the room. And he hadn't even been drinking it. How did this man manage to turn every sentence into a sex offer? Matthew felt like this was around the time he should be asking-
"How much?" came a gruff voice from behind them. Matthew turned to find an old, fat man standing behind the other man-actually, what was his name?-with his hand on his shoulder. The genie gave him a sensual smile and said that he wasn't accepting offers at the moment, and Matthew's heart stopped, very briefly, in it's regular pattern of pumping life-supporting blood throughout his body. He let his head fall onto the bar.
"I'm going to die," he mumbled, feeling sleepy. He downed the rest of his drink and gestured for a refill, which the bartender somehow noticed. Well, there was one person who could see him. Maybe he should propose to him, right now. He could see it: their honeymoon could be them, sitting at this bar, him serving Matthew. They'd have kids, of course, bottles of whiskey and vodka, and maple syrup, obviously. It was the perfect life. All that was needed was a white picket fence. Hey, wouldn't that look great sitting on the bar?
"Oh, don't die, petit beaute, what would I ever do without you?" the genie beside him asked, probably mockingly.
"Become a highly successful prostitute," mumbled Matthew. "and spend all your money on good wine."
"Well, while the thought does appeal to me, I am a genie and you have summoned me from my prison, mon cheri, and so I owe you three wishes."
"Three wishes, hmm... like 'Aladdin'..." mumbled Matthew, swirling his drink around once before downing it. "Well then, I wish for three more wishes." He frowned. That was the right thing to do, right? Apparently not, because the man-genie-whatever he was-just chuckled.
"Non, non, mon beaute, that is not how it goes! You must wish for things other than wishes! Otherwise I cannot grant you anything!"
"What's your name?" Matthew suddenly interrupted, feeling extremely, sleepily dizzy. "Because I just suddenly found you in my apartment, and you had a very distracting dick, but I don't actually know your name, which just seems a little bit weird, since I usually only see the dicks of people I've at least known for a couple weeks, or months, not just the first time I ever see them in my life." Matthew went to down his drink before realizing his glass was empty.
"My name is Francis, but, more importantly, you found my dick attractive? That bodes well for your chances, mon petit gateau."
"Did you just call me your cupcake...?" Matthew wondered sleepily. His eyelids seemed to be falling towards the bar top. He wondered why that was happening. He hadn't been here that long, had he?
"I think, petit patisserie, that it is time for you to be leaving. This has been too much excitement for one night, do you not agree?" Suddenly Matthew found that he wasn't sitting down anymore, but was actually being carried or something. Not by Francis, surely? His head lolled onto a convenient shoulder and he felt fragrant, shoulder-length hair tickle his nose. Oh, yes, so it was Francis. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried not to enjoy it.
Matthew awoke the next morning with a pounding headache and a bad taste in his mouth. He just lay there for a moment, wondering if last night had been a dream or not. Opening his eyes, he realised that it most definitely had not been a dream, because standing there next to him was Francis, looking at him in concern. Matthew closed his eyes again, trying not to see those brilliant blue eyes of his.
"Hello, are you awake?" the other man asked, shaking his shoulder. "I've made breakfast." Matthew rolled over and buried his head in his pillow. "I made pancakes. With maple syrup." the Frenchman said enticingly. If Matthew had been a cat, his ears would have pricked up interestedly.
"Maple syrup?" Matthew asked.
"Yes. Maple syrup. And I thought I would explain things to you a bit more, since you seem to not be getting it. Also, I don't know your name?"
"Matthew," Matthew replied. "That's my name." He shoved his face further into the pillow and tried to breathe through it.
"Well then, Mathieu, please get up now."
"But I don't want to get up," Matthew grumbled, sounding like a two-year-old and not even caring.
"But, Mathieu, you have to get up. It's morning. Morning is the time for getting up. And, besides, we have things to do today, mon petit gateau."
"But it's Saturday. You don't have things to do on Saturday. It's just not right." Saturday's were for lazing about and wondering if running outside in a neon tracksuit would make people notice him.
"That's right! It's Saturday, which means that we're going to go out and do something fun!" Francis grabbed his arm and pulled him gently out of bed. "Come on, wake up, get dressed, show me your favorite places in this fair city of... ah, where are we, exactly?"
Matthew sighed, opened his eyes and went to grab clothes to change into. "Toronto, of course. In Canada."
"Canada? I have never been to Canada! Is it a fair and magical land?"
Matthew shot him a look. "No, not really, unless you like snow. And... snow."
Francis smiled brightly at him. "I love snow!"
Matthew turned away, trying not to blush. He felt as if Francis had meant to say his name instead of snow. "P-pancakes, you said?" he asked, changing the subject quickly from... snow.
"Oui! With Maple syrup! I know you like it!" Matthew blushed again, then shooed the French genie from his bedroom so that he could change. What was with that guy, suddenly appearing to shower him with abnormal affection? He wasn't used to any of this. What was he supposed to do? Half of him wanted to call his brother so that he could steal the attention yet again, but the other half never wanted his brother to meet Francis so that he could have the beautiful blond man all to himself.
...This whole strange escapade was going to end tragically. Just like his other relationships, like that narcissistic German who referred to himself as a "Prussian", or that Cuban, or that flat-out creepy Russian. What he had seen in that guy, he honestly didn't know.
But, he might as well enjoy it while it lasted. Especially if it came with pancakes.
Once they were both done with breakfast, Francis got up and cleared the table faster than Matthew had ever seen, ever, even that one time when Alfred had flipped the table over in excitement, then grabbed Matthew by the hand and dragged him outside. Matthew wasn't sure where they were going, and he had the sneaking suspicion that Francis didn't either, but it was all okay. He liked just walking with him enough to make it a permanent thing. He'd like to look into it professionally, in fact. Make a living off of it.
"So, you're a genie?" he asked, trying to clear his head. He needed to figure out what was going on with this guy.
"Yes, I am a genie. I'm here to grant you three wishes."
"And I can't ask for more wishes?"
"Non. Someone did that once and it was a disaster, so it's now against the rules."
"Rules?"
"Yes. We genies do have some rules placed on us." Francis sighed. "Which is why you can't ask for more wishes, or something else that is impossible, like a green sky, or a new family member, or something along those lines."
Matthew frowned. This was all so hard to take in. Yesterday, he hadn't even believed in things like wishes and genies and today, he was having a conversation with an extremely sexy one who kept looking at him out of the corner of his eye-did most genies do that to their wishers? Was it supposed to make him feel light-headed? If it was, it was most definitely working.
"So, do you have a wish yet?"
Matthew blinked in surprise, mouth opening and closing as he tried to find words. He didn't have a wish. This was all too sudden. What was he supposed to say? He had everything he wanted, as far as he knew, except-
"I wish people would see me," he blurted out. As soon as he realized what he'd said, he covered his mouth with his hands in surprise.
"What do you mean?" asked Francis, cocking his head slightly to the side. People walking past them down the street turned to look at him, and one man even whistled appreciatively.
"Well, no one can see me." Matthew told him. He waved his arms through the air wildly to demonstrate. "You see? No one even noticed. I could walk out completely naked and no one would."
"I would notice, mon Canadien." Francis' eyes sparked in a way that was anything but innocent, and Matthew felt himself blush.
"O-oh, well, ah... okay then." Matthew didn't know what to say, so he went right back to the subject of his wish. "So, you can make people see me more, right...? I mean, I need to get paid, but my boss never notices me. He's too busy playing with himself." Matthew blushed at what he'd just said. "I mean, by himself, not with himself-well, okay, one time he was playing with himself, but that's completely beside the point-"
Francis laughed, making Matthew blush even more. "Mathieu, you are so cute!" he exclaimed. Matthew felt he wanted to sink through the ground, never to be seen again. "Ooh, look, a clothing store!" he exclaimed, grabbing Matthew by the hand and pulling him inside. "We really need to get you a new wardrobe. You look like a married accountant."
Matthew winced. "Wow, thanks. That was... extremely nice of you."
Francis turned and smiled at him. "I meant because of your clothes. If they weren't so bland and tasteless, you'd look great!"
"Well, I did get all of this from my grandmother..." Matthew admitted, wondering how he even had any blood left to blush with.
"And your grandmother has exquisite taste, if she was picking out an outfit for a corpse to wear!" Matthew winced once more. How Francis could say all of that without losing his flirtatious smile, he had no idea. "Now, come on, mon cheri, I will give you the makeover of the century!"
Three hours later, Matthew was feeling more stylishly gay than he ever had before in his life. Tight purple-ish jeans, a button-down lilac shirt and an unzipped hoodie made him feel peculiarly... hot, which was weird for him. He was pretty sure he looked like a nineteen-year-old again, and he was twenty-five.
"Ah, Mathieu, you look gorgeous!" the French genie exclaimed, looking as if he wanted to reach out and kiss him. Matthew wasn't quite sure if he would accept or deny the genie if he tried, and so he was glad when he didn't.
"Th-thank you... I suppose..." he said awkwardly. "But, em, how exactly did you pay for all of... this." He gestured to the four or five bags that littered the area around the sofa in his house.
Francis, eyes twinkling merrily, tapped the side of his nose. "That is my little secret, non?" he said. "What matters right now is that you look like sex, Mathieu, and I'm sure that someone would see you if you went to a pub tonight!"
Matthew blushed at the compliment, stuttering out how he looked like no such thing, but Francis would have none of it.
"I am serious, mon Canadien, you look absolutely stunning and I really think we should go out again tonight! At the very least, someone will notice you. At most..." The Frenchman smirked, causing Matthew to blush once more. "Well, I think we both know what happens 'at most,' now don't we?"
"I don't know, I'm not so sure about this..." Matthew said, feeling a bit scared. He didn't like this idea of Francis'. It just didn't seem... right. One-night stands weren't his forte.
Francis sighed. "Just give it a try, mon Canadien. It will be fun, I promise!"
Matthew groaned, sliding off of the sofa, which he and Francis were sitting on, and onto the floor into a puddle. "Fine," he mumbled into the carpet. He propped his head up on his hand as a thought struck him. "Does this count as a wish?" he asked the gorgeous French genie, who grinned seductively at him.
"Oui, mon ami-consider wish number one officially granted!"
Matthew was feeling incredibly uncomfortable. How the drunk, nearly fourty-year-old man trying to flirt with him couldn't tell, Matthew wasn't sure. He kept edging slowly away and looking pointedly toward the door, but the man just didn't seem able to take a hint.
"And so then I was like, 'Oh my god, do you understand what you just did?' and he was like-"
"I have to go!" Matthew interrupted, surprised at himself. "My, ah, friend is waiting for me." He pointed to his left and then while the man followed his stare he ducked to the right and managed to escape. Sighing with relief, he made his way onto the dancefloor, looking for Francis, who would be in the middle of everything, he knew. And he was, dancing as if the next day were his last on earth. Matthew frowned, wondering if it really was. How long did genie's stay? Where did they go when they weren't granting wishes? Were they human once before? Because Francis looked, seemed, and acted every bit a hot, bisexual human man.
Matthew pushed his way through the crowd, feeling sick at how close everyone was to him. People were pressed up against him from all sides and he wanted nothing more than to shove them all away and leave the room. But he had to get Francis!
"Francis!" Matthew called too quietly. He couldn't even hear himself over the music; there was no way Francis could. "Francis!" he yelled louder. Immediately, Francis turned. As soon as he saw Matthew, he moved away from whoever he had been dancing with and grabbed him by the hands.
"Dance with me!" he yelled over the music. Before Matthew could refuse, Francis gathered him in his arms and began moving in time with the music. Caught up in the moment, Matthew allowed it to happen, even going so far as to move his feet, which was considerably more than he'd danced in a couple years, probably since Alfred's bachelor party. Now that had been strange... considering Al was literally doing nothing but celebrating the fact that he was single.
But, to get back to the point, Matthew hadn't danced in a long time. So maybe that was why he completely overdid it. Maybe he pressed himself just that much too close to Francis, or maybe leaned his face in just too far. Whatever it was, it ended with Francis' mouth on his, his tongue on his, his arms wrapped firmly around his waist, Matthew's hands running through his gorgeous hair-and all in the middle of a dancefloor, no less! Someone yelled at them to get a room and Matthew, blushing, pulled slowly away.
"I... um... I-I don't know... why I... sorry." he said. He ran a hand through his hair and didn't look at Francis. He felt extremely disappointed with himself. "I, um, I think I'll be going back home now..." he murmured. He wasn't sure if Francis even heard him, and he didn't wait around long enough for a reply. Instead he turned and walked out of the club, wishing that he had had the guts to continue.
Francis did not come back to Matthew's apartment at any time during the night, making Matthew even more miserable than before. He didn't know what he'd been expecting, but for Francis to find... another place to sleep right after kissing him just seemed... wrong. Absolutely, unequivocally wrong.
It was early Sunday morning now, and Matthew was considering crawling under his bed and dying, or perhaps packing a small backpack and moving to... where? He already lived in Canada. Where was more out of the way than that? Well, he supposed he could always go to Russia and live way up there, in the Arctic circle, hidden from everyone. Ever.
He sat up, grabbed for his home phone and dialed a familiar number-the only number he had ever bothered to memorize. He waited uncertainly for him to pick up pick up pick up and then nearly screamed when the usual, "HELLO!" burst from the phone.
"A-Al?" he asked tentatively.
"Matty? Matty, are you calling me? What for? Did something epic happen?" The pure excitement in his brother's voice made Matthew nearly forget about Francis completely.
"Yeah, I'm calling you, and yeah, something epic happened, I guess. I mean, I found a genie in a teapot, hidden behind one of the basement walls of the museum I've been working at."
Alfred was silent for a moment, until he screamed, "ARTHUR! MATTY WANTS TO TALK TO YOU!" loud enough for Matthew's ears to start ringing. He heard yelling in the background, though he couldn't make out more than a few words in a British accent, and then he could almost hear the other phone being jerked from his step-brother by his flatmate. They both stuck to the ridiculous notion that it was a completely heterosexual relationship, but Matthew had walked in on... things, and so he knew better. As far as he knew, they were extreme fuck buddies who weren't planning on doing anything romantic any time soon.
"Hello?" said a man with a pissed-off British accent.
"H-hi..." said Matthew awkwardly.
"Alfred told me that you wanted to talk to me," Arthur told him, sighing heavily into the phone and causing a rush of static. "What about?"
"W-well, um, I had just told him that I found a genie behind the wall of the museum I've been working at. His name is Francis and he-"
"DID YOU SAY FRANCIS?!" Arthur suddenly shouted into the phone, causing Matthew to drop it onto the floor. "DON'T MOVE AN INCH! I'LL BE RIGHT THERE!" Arthur was yelling so loudly Matthew could hear him all the way from his spot on the couch. Suddenly Arthur hung up his phone, and Matthew reached out a tentative finger and pressed the "end" button.
The front door slammed open, causing the already unsteady Matthew to fall off the couch entirely with an embarrassing squeak.
"Mathieu!" called an over-the-top French genie. "I'm back! And, let me tell you, I had the most wonderful night!" Matthew groaned. So now he was going to rub in the fact that he had slept with someone? Wow. This guy... was nearly as bad as Alfred.
The Frenchmen appeared in the doorway and beamed at Matthew. "Bonsoir!" he sang happily, removing a random jacket that Matthew had never seen before and flinging it over the back of a chair. He walked over and sat down on the couch, pulling Matthew up so that he was dangerously close to sitting on the genie's lap. "Matthew, have you ever wandered about the city at night? All night? It's so beautiful! Though, not as beautiful as Paris, but it was a close... fourth." He turned to beam happily and rather lewdly (as usual, with him) at Matthew. "Someday, I would like to take you to Paris." he told him. "You would like it. It's absolutely perfect."
Matthew couldn't help but crack a smile at the brilliant enthusiasm on the genie's face, but he still felt really awkward, thinking about Francis up all night. I mean, really, the guy had been locked in a teapot for a long time, probably, so how could he resist the urge to fuck someone? It was pretty obvious that he couldn't considering the way he had kissed him the night before. No one kissed Matthew unless they were really horny, because that's the only way they could see him.
"Mathieu?" the genie asked. "What's wrong?" He reached out a gentle hand and stroked Matthew's face, making him shiver slightly.
"Can I ask for my second wish now?" asked Matthew, not meeting Francis' eyes. Francis stiffened for a small moment-a moment so small Matthew was sure he had imagined it-but then relaxed again.
"Of course, mon petit gateau!"
"I wish that I will find, um, my true love." Matthew said awkwardly, trying not to meet the genie's eyes. Even so, he could still practically feel his smirk as he answered, "Wish number two, granted!"
For some reason, Matthew got the feeling that the genie hadn't had to do a thing for this one.
They were sitting at the kitchen table playing a half-hearted game of chess when Francis suddenly asked, "Mathieu, can I take you to Paris?"
Matthew didn't take his eyes off the board as he answered, "When?"
"...Right now?"
Matthew moved one of his pawns into check. "For how long?"
"A week?" Francis moved one of his pawns to kill Matthew's.
"I can't skip my job for that long," Matthew answered immediately, even though his boss never even knew that he was there. "And besides, I can't afford a trip to Paris."
"But I can, mon petit Canadien."
"Where are you getting all this money from?" Matthew asking, desperate to change the subject. He moved his queen to take out one of Francis' knights and go into check again.
"Don't try to change the subject on me, Mathieu. Do you want to go or not?"
"Um..." Matthew thought about this. Did he want to go to Paris? Yes. Did he want to go with Francis? Yes. Did he want Francis to go there and sleep with a ton of random people? No. "Yes, I want to go to Paris," he finally admitted.
Francis clapped his hands together excitedly. "Let's get packing then, petit gateau!"
Matthew blushed. "Stop calling me that!" he half-whined, not really meaning it.
The next day, Matthew awoke in Paris. As soon as he realized where he was, he jumped to his feet and raced to the hotel window, opening the curtains to peer outside. The sight took his breath away; the city laid out before him looked like something out of a dream, and he couldn't quite believe that he, the Canadian version of an Average Joe, was standing in a high-class hotel in Paris with an extremely sexy genie. Of all the things he had ever expected from his life, this was certainly not one of them.
He heard someone shifting in the bed he had just vacated and turned to see Francis covering his head with the blankets to block the light from the window. With a blush, Matthew remembered how they were both so tired from the flight they didn't even bother figuring out who would sleep on the sofa. They just both climbed into the one bed and fell straight to sleep. Oh. god, it was so embarrassing to think about now that he was awake!
"Who turned the lights on...?" mumbled Francis. Matthew could barely hear his muffled voice coming from under the covers.
"No one. The sun came up." he replied, perhaps a bit snarkily.
"Well, it should set once more..." Francis moaned, rolling over to bury his head in his pillow. Matthew couldn't help but feel his heart squinch up at the sight. Francis was sooo... squeeable. Even if he was a pervy genie.
He quickly moved to the bed and threw the blankets off of Francis, relieved but also slightly disappointed that Francis was still wearing all his clothes from the night before, minus his shoes. "Come on, Francis. It's time to get up. You said you'd show me the city." he reminded quietly, reaching over to shake the genie's shoulder. Suddenly, before he even knew what was happening, Francis' hand had closed around his wrist and he was yanked onto the bed beside him. Francis wrapped his arms around Matthew and buried his face in the young man's hair, breathing in the scent of him. Matthew felt his heart speed up to a speed that was possibly dangerously fast. Oh god oh god oh god, Francis was holding him... in a bed... in Paris, the City of Love. Which could also be seen as the City of Sex, since sex is also referred to as making love, and-
And he wouldn't think about it anymore.
Reluctantly, he wriggled from Francis' arms. "Come on, Francis," he wheedled. "You have to show me your favorite parts of the city. Please?"
Silence for a moment, and then a small groan from Francis. "Fine then, mon cheri, but you owe me a coffee or something."
"Whatever for? You're the one who brought me here in the first place." Matthew told him, trying to sound cross when he wasn't really.
"For tearing me from the great pleasure that is sleeping next to you." the genie said matter-of-factly, sitting up in bed to look him in the eye. Matthew blushed and turned away. His heart couldn't take any more of this. Really, it couldn't. It would burst soon, probably on this ill-fated trip to Paris, and then what would happen? He didn't want to leave Francis alone in the City of Love by himself-who knew what he would get up to-but no man can stop death, or time, or whatever the saying is.
"Well, fine, one coffee it is," Matthew said. "Now get up and show me around, please." Francis reached out and grabbed Matthew's wrist, slowly pulling him around to face him before kissing him lightly on the tip of his nose.
"Let's go then!" he said happily even as Matthew turned an absolutely adorable shade of rosy red. He left the hotel room, pulling a still-blushing Matthew behind him, and headed off into the city.
Paris, Matthew soon found, was just as big and loud as his brother's hometown of New York. Unlike New York, which, if it had been a dancer, would have danced obnoxiously on a stage thinking it was awesome when really it sucked, Paris was a graceful, prima ballerina who grabbed your attention and made you instantly fall in love with absolutely everything French, including a certain genie. After just two or so hours, Matthew was completely and totally drunk off of the absolute peace, happiness, and contentment he felt just wandering this beautiful city with an equally beautiful French genie, who kept shooting him sudden glances as if wanting to just reach over and swing the smaller Canadian into a beautifully romantic kiss. Matthew wasn't quite sure if it was the city or that fact that made him so gloriously happy, but whatever it was, he was glad for it. He hadn't felt this happy since... well, since ever. Even those beautiful Christmas's with his German/Prussian boyfriend had nothing on this. This wasn't even Christmas and he already felt like getting mistletoe to hold above the genie's head.
Finally, after another half hour or so, Francis asked if Matthew would like to stop for dinner. Matthew nearly said no, but at the thought of food he realized just how hungry he was-he hadn't eaten since a wonderful coffee and croissant quite a bit earlier-and he nodded his head excitedly, wondering if the Parisian cuisine could somehow top the actual city in beauty and deliciousness.
He followed behind Francis, hand clasped tightly in his, as the genie lead him expertly through the streets and narrow alleys to the place he wanted to be. He stopped in front of a small restaurant crammed into a seemingly smaller alleyway.
"Is this it?" asked Matthew in his usual quiet voice.
"Oui," the French genie answered, starting forward. "I wonder how much it's changed..." he added under his breath. Matthew dutifully followed him inside, not asking what he was talking about. It seemed personal, and he didn't want to get on Francis' bad side, not when he was so in love with the man. Wait, had he just said that he was in love with him? He wasn't, of course, not at all. Francis was too... wonderful to be his, so of course he didn't - couldn't - love him.
As soon as they stepped over the threshold, Francis stopped walking and stared around the room. It was small and cozy-looking, with well-loved tables covered in sweet little light-pink, lacy cloths and mismatched chairs. The walls were hung with framed pictures of beautiful things, all of couples; two pairs of shoes, someone standing on another person's feet so that they could kiss, though you couldn't see the people's faces, two intertwined balloons floating off into space, just romantic, sweet things that made a strange feeling rise in Matthew's chest. It felt almost like loneliness, but a little bit different...
"It hasn't changed a bit," Francis breathed, staring at the pictures and the tables. Matthew, on a whim, reached out and grabbed the genie's hand. Francis shot him a beautiful smile, then turned nervously towards a door in the back of the small room. "I wonder..." he said softly. After a moment's hesitation, he began walking to the door, Matthew following behind him with a strangely hopeful feeling in his chest.
Francis carefully opened the door. "Hello?" he asked softly. A soft noise came from the kitchen at his voice, and Matthew waited with bated breath, for some reason, as soft footsteps came slowly closer.
"Francis?" said a soft voice.
"Oui... I am Francis..." the genie replied softly. "I do not recognize you. I am sorry..."
"It's me... your little sister."
At this, Matthew peeked over Francis' shoulder to get a good look at the his genie friend's sister. To his everlasting shock, standing there, one hand on a wooden can to help her stay standing, was an old, old woman. He turned to see Francis staring at the woman with tears in his eyes, and he suddenly realized that he was still holding the genie's hand, and gave it a small and, hopefully, comforting squeeze.
"I'm sorry I didn't come back sooner," Francis whispered, staring at his strangely old younger sister. "I wasn't allowed out of my teapot for many years." If this had been any other occasion, Matthew might have laughed at this statement. Instead, he just felt a huge wave of sadness crash over him for Francis and his sister, who would never see each other the same way as they had years before.
"You came back once, years ago..." the old woman whispered softly. "Do you remember? You were there for my wedding. I was nearly as old as you then, but you looked exactly the same as when I was a little girl. You told us you had been turned into a genie, but you never mentioned why."
"I'm not allowed to, not unless it's the wish of my wishee." Francis' eyes took in the old woman who used to be his beloved little sister. "You look beautiful," he told her softly. She smiled at him, and Matthew smiled too. Francis... Francis saw beauty in everything, as far as Matthew could tell. It was an admirable quality, and he loved - no, admired, not loved, he didn't love Francis - for it.
"Francis, who's your friend?" the old woman asked suddenly, somehow noticing Matthew. He wondered if his first wish was working or if it was just because Francis' sister was enough like her brother to see him. "Not another one of your playthings, I hope. He seems nice!"
Francis looked embarrassed. "No, he's not a plaything, he's Matthew." He said "Matthew" as if that explained everything, including the secrets to the universe, and Matthew realized that was probably the first time Francis had called him by the English version of his name. Matthew felt his cheeks grow warm, and he untangled his hand from Francis' so that he could reach over and shake the old woman's hand.
"I-I'm Matthew..." he said quietly, feeling a slight blush rise in his cheeks. The woman's soft, warm hand enclose around his and she gave him a searching look. She seemed to stare deep down into Matthew's soul until he began to feel very uncomfortable. He almost wanted to pull his hand away, but he felt that that would be rude, somehow.
"Take care of my brother for me, Mathieu." she said solemnly.
"Wh-what..?" Matthew began, completely thrown off his guard.
She turned his hand around so that it was lying palm-down in her own, then patted the top of it with her other hand. "You'll be good for him, I can tell."
"Um... thank you?" Matthew asked unsurely. He wasn't quite sure what the woman was talking about, but he got the feeling that she thought... she thought he and Francis were going to, like, be together or something... and he was pretty sure that Francis didn't think that. at all.
A couple hours later Matthew and Francis were sitting in their hotel room in a strangely tense silence. Matthew almost wished for the door to suddenly open just for a small break. He wasn't exactly sure what they were being tense about, but he did know that he wanted more than anything in the world to just lean over and kiss Francis, hard, on the mouth. He was trying to resist this urge, but... it wasn't going so well at the moment.
"Mathieu? Can I ask you something?" Matthew nearly jumped as Francis suddenly spoke. It had been strangely quiet for so long now that sound just sounded weird to him.
"What?" Matthew asked quietly, voice slightly choked because of everything he was feeling right then, namely that Francis look absolutely stunning. As usual.
"What did you think of what my sister said earlier?" Francis asked. He seemed deep in thought for some reason.
"Which thing? What she said about how you became a genie, or-"
"No... what she said about taking care of me." Matthew instantly blushed, feeling absolutely mortified. How could Francis say that so easily?
"U-um..." Matthew didn't know what to say. Should he say what he really felt, or should he make something up so that neither of them would feel weird anymore? Ah, but what if saying basically nothing left them with this awkward silence? "I thought... I would do it..." he finally decided on saying, though he could barely hear himself.
"What?" Francis asked, turning to look at him. "I couldn't hear what you said, mon Canadien."
"I thought - and still think! - that I would, um, t-take care of you..." Matthew had started out speaking rather loudly, for him, but he had ended up nearly whispering.
"Really?" Francis turned to look at Matthew, a strangely surprised look in his eyes. "You would stick with me long enough to take care of my, mon petit gateau?"
"St-stop calling me that, it's embarrassing!" blushed Matthew, trying not to look the genie in the eye. "And yes, I would, because I rather like you! Well, a little. I mean, no more than can be expected. I mean-ugh, I sound like that one Italian guy!" He might have gone on trying to explain himself, but before he could, arms wrapped around him, pulling him in close for a hug and a sweet kiss on the tip of his nose. Matthew immediately turned as bright red as the Italian he had just mentioned. Why did Francis keep on doing that? It made him lower his guard to dangerous levels!
"Wh-what was that...?" he asked softly, not quite sure. Francis shot him a beautiful smile.
"Nothing," he said. "Just that I love you."
Matthew's heart stopped.
"What about you? Do you love me?"
"Yes," he breathed. How had that come out so easily? He felt like it should get caught in his throat, he shouldn't have been able to admit it just like that, on the flip of a coin. More like the kiss of a nose.
"Good, because I love you, mon amour." Mon amour, he had said. Matthew's heart started beating just so that it could stop again.
"D-did you just call me...?" he began. Before he could finish, soft lips touched his and he melted into them, wrapping his arms tightly around the other man's neck. Francis broke away from him just for a moment to softly say, "Oui," before kissing Matthew once more.
The next morning, Matthew was laying in bed in their hotel room, pondering how good of a kisser Francis was. Extremely good, he finally decided, was possibly close to about how good he was. Kind of. Matthew hadn't exactly had a lot of kissing practice, but he thought of himself as pretty good considering, but Francis... well, he had a way of making Matthew feel like a princess, somehow, though he was embarrassed to admit it. He heard Francis shift beside him just before feeling arms wrap themselves around his waist, tugging his back against the genie's front until he was feeling comfortably warm. He settled into the genie's arms and tried not to sigh happily. He had never felt this... absolutely wonderful before.
Francis gently kissed the back of his neck, sending shivers down his spine. He could feel Francis smiling against his skin, and it made him blush slightly. He slowly turned around to face his - his what, exactly? What were they at this point? Extremely close friends? Or perhaps... something more?
"C'est un beau matin, mon amour," Francis whispered softly. Matthew broke into a sunny smile. He just couldn't not smile when Francis kept calling him that - his love. His love. His love! He felt like grabbing Francis and just - just squeezing the life out of him! But then... he would be dead, and that wasn't good at all.
"It is," Matthew agreed. That was the only thing he could think of to say without saying "Not as beautiful as you!" which would just be... cheesy and romantic and -
"But not as beautiful as you." Francis purred into his ear.
- and perfect. Absolutely perfect.
Matthew leaned in to kiss the French genie and then suddenly - BAM! - the door to their hotel was literally ripped off of it's hinges and thrown down the hallway. Matthew sat up instantly, gathering the blankets around his chest so that he could cover himself completely with them if he had to. What he saw scared the living daylights out of him: his step brother, Alfred, was standing in the hallway smiling happily while in front of him a demonic-looking demon - um, an angry Englishman - was glaring stonily at one Francis... um, whatever his last name was.
"FRANCIS YOU FUCKING WANKER!" Arthur suddenly screamed, scaring the maple out of Matthew. "I LOCKED YOU IN THAT BASEMENT FOR A REASON AND NO YOU'RE HERE TROLLING MY FLATMATE'S BROTHER?!"
Matthew wasn't quite sure what "trolling" was but he was sure it wasn't good.
"Ah, no, Arthur, you misunderstand -" Francis began, but before he could finish Arthur tackled him. Matthew quickly slipped off of the bed, glad that he had thought to put on pants before going to sleep the night before; otherwise he would have been standing naked in the middle of a hotel room next to his brother and his brother's... flatmate.
"Hey there, Mattie!" Alfred said, smiling happily at his Canadian brother. "How've ya been? I don't really know what's going on. Suddenly Arthur decided we needed to come visit you, and apparently one of his unicorn friends told him that you'd actually gone to France, so we followed you there! Who's that blonde guy, by the way?"
"U-um, that's Francis..."
"Were you just sleeping with him?" Alfred asked, still smiling happily even as his flatmate attacked Francis with a pillow.
"Wh-what?" Matthew squeaked. He wasn't completely sure how to answer the question-he had never been good at talking about his love-life, and especially not to his brother, who was... rather kinky.
"You were!" Alfred said. He began laughing gleefully, as if hearing that his brother had slept with someone was the funniest thing he had ever heard in his life. "Wow, isn't that something? Arthur said he slept with him too!"
Matthew felt his heart drop to somewhere around his feet. "D-did he...?" he said, feeling strangely disappointed. Maybe, deep in his subconscious, he had entertained the notion Francis wasn't the easy-ish man he had supposed him to be at first.
"Yeah, like, when he was a teenager, probably around when dinosaurs roamed the earth!"
The funny part was that he said it with such a straight, earnest face.
Arthur suddenly turned to face his flatmate/fuck buddy. "What did you just say about me?" he asked in a dangerous tone, wielding the pillow as if it was a rocket launcher.
"I said that you were probably still a kid when dinosaurs roamed the earth." Alfred said offhandedly. Matthew facepalmed as Arthur threw himself at his American flatmate and began to beat him with a pillow. Matthew turned away to look at Francis just in time to see him get out of bed, completely naked, and in full view of everyone.
...Why was his life so chaotic?
"I wish my life would stay like this forever," he whispered to himself. Somehow, he knew that Francis had not only heard, but would try his best to make it come true.
HOLY SHIT THIS WAS A BITCH TO EDIT!
And, I would've posted this sooner, so I apologize to all of you because you didn't get to see it back in, y'know, NOVEMBER. *slaps herself* I'm an ass, I know. But, hey, at least there's some good news! This has somehow, in my mind at least, turned into a two-part play with a USUK intermission, so there will be more to look forward to! *cough* Three months from now. *cough*
SHUT UP INNER LOVINO! D:
Anyways... I hope you enjoyed this, please express your opinion freely in a review, which I will not judge at all, in any way, because I'm not in the mood right now. I'm too tired. Oh yeah, and, in the beginning, I kind of tried to write this in British English, but I didn't near the end. And also, I'm not going to translate the French 'cause it's a pain, but I WILL say that Francis is laying it on THICK-as long as Google Translate's telling me the truth. XD
SHO.
Goodbye. XD