Writing with Wine {FrUK}

Chapter Two

Arthur woke the next morning in a fevered sweat, from an extremely erotic dream. He furrowed his bushy brows in concentration, trying to recall the quickly fading stimuli.

Eventually, he gave up and instead tried to remember what woke him at – He glanced at the clock – Six AM? As if on cue, his doorbell rang, announcing a visitor. With a sigh, the Brit climbed out from under his covers to answer the door…and realized he was hard.

"Oh, bugger…" He mumbled, wiping a hand down his face. As the bell rang again, the blonde decided just to pull on his robe to hopefully hide his…excitement. "Oi! Hold your bloody horses!" He called. The person continued to ring as Arthur made his way to the front of his apartment. "Hey!" He opened the door. "Stop ringing that damn-"

Then he saw who it was and almost closed the door again. A familiar blonde Frenchman was standing on his doorstep, grinning. Arthur sighed.

"Are you stalking me now, you bloody git?"

"Non," Francis rolled his eyes. "But when I stopped by zat café we met in yesterday, ze girl behind ze counter was only too happy to give moi your address, cher." He smiled. "She also said you were a regular, which was good to know too…"

Arthur sighed again. "Great. Now I don't just have to stop going to my favorite café, I also have to move."

Francis 'tsked'. "Don't be that way, mon ami, I just wanted to check and see if my tips helped you…Can I come in?"

Rolling his eyes, Arthur opened the door a bit wider against his better judgment, grumbling, "Come in." Arthur, what are you doing? You barely know this guy!

But still, he let the other blonde enter, closing the door behind him. He followed Francis into his kitchen, where the flamboyant man had apparently helped himself to some tea already. "Who said you could make tea?"

"Moi," Francis replied, as if it were the most obvious question ever.

Arthur sighed. "At least make some for me too."

"Of course, cher." The Frenchman winked.

The Brit rolled his eyes. "Actually," He began a few minutes later, when Francis sat down across the table from him. "Your tips didn't do me much good, I'm afraid…"

"Non?"

"No. I tried writing about cowboys, aliens, and private detectives. And more, but nothing worked…" He rested his head on his folded arms. "I'm just afraid I'm going to blow this…"

"Hmm…. Maybe if you tried somezing I've heard works a bit better?"

"What's that?" Arthur lifted his head.

"Well, perhaps if you went for a walk and took notes in a small notebook, it would help inspire you?"

"...Maybe…" Arthur slowly nodded. "Yeah, I could try…"

"Good. Well zen, if zat is settled, finish your tea and go dress. Zen we can go."

"Yes…wait, what?"

"Well, I'm coming too, cher." Francis smiled, as if it was, again, the most obvious question.

He was going to protest. He really was. But in the end, Arthur just sighed and nodded, draining his cooling tea in one sip. "I'll be right back."

"I know, mon petit lapin."

The Brit ignored him.