Chapter 4
Arthur struggled futilely against the burlap bag, fingernails scratching at the fabric vainly, trying to find enough of a hold to tear through the fabric and break free from the suffocating prison. Kicking and flailing seemed to have no effect against the person holding him tightly. He could feel himself being tossed rudely, and then the sensation of being tied up with (what he presumed were) ropes. They scratched unpleasantly against the outside of the sack, and his newly-sensitive ears cringed at the invasive sounds. He tried to kick against his captor, but strong arms held his legs tightly together, and a pressure on his back pinned him down as the ropes were tightened to the point of holding him still without quite cutting off the blood supply to his limbs. Arms and legs completely immobilised, more ropes were added to prevent him from potentially wriggling his way loose.
Unable to struggle against the new restraints beyond a dreadfully undignified butt-wriggle, he finally stilled as a car door slamming and an engine rumbling alerted him to the fact that he was now in a moving vehicle. He swore he could hear a deep chuckle from a metre or so in front of him, but no matter how much he wished to reach over and throttle the person he was completely helpless. Throat hoarse from the yelling that had transpired only minutes earlier, he exhaled deeply, closed his eyes and instead focused on breathing.
~SR~
After frantically double-checking his previous conclusion and confirming that the small Englishman was absolutely nowhere in the house, Alfred had retrieved Arthur's car keys from the counter (where he'd tossed them only a couple of hours earlier; he'd been lectured enough times about leaving them in the ignition) and was about to launch himself heroically out into the wilderness in search of his lost love when a fluttering piece of paper had shaken itself loose from its place in the letter slot and caught the corner of his eye.
As he paused to read it, a rare frown settled on his face, growing deeper as he reached the end. In itself the note was rather short and succinct, but the information it contained concerned him, especially considering the people involved. Hurriedly crumpling the piece of paper into his jacket pocket, he carried on his way with extra urgency.
~SR~
Curse that infernal frog! Had he known the bastard was at the door he'd have never opened the bleeding thing! (Really, he shouldn't have opened the door at all because only Alfred knew of his present state and he was more than enough, but whoever it was had banged and banged and after ten minutes of this he was so enraged he didn't even bother to peer through he peep hole before flinging the door open and yelling at them to 'shut the bloody fuck up!') It was bad enough that the slimy devil had seen him in his current state, even worse that he'd quickly acquired that warning smirk that informed Arthur of unpleasant things to come, most likely blackmail.
He'd thought he was in the clear when he'd slammed the door in his lecherous face and spied him heading back towards his car (apparently the spell must have messed with his common sense, though, because there was no way Francis would ever back away from something as juicy as this), but the celebration had been premature as he'd soon returned with some extra implements at hand.
And why on earth would he keep a sack in his car? It wasn't exactly the sort of thing one would use on a day to day basis, was it? As least the rope was vaguely explicable, seeing as this was Francis he was talking (thinking) about. Although, on second thoughts, it was probably better to not to ponder upon what went through his perverted mind. One could give themselves an aneurysm if they thought on it too hard, especially a non-perverted minded gentleman such as himself.
It was embarrassing that Francis had been able to subdue him in the first place, but he firmly placed the blame on the fact that he'd just barely-awoken from his sleep. It didn't help that his new form seemed to be at least a little bit weaker than he normally was, not to mention apparently a lot easier for stupid frogs to manhandle.
The journey was far too long for Arthur's liking, bumps in the road resulting in him being tossed about like a rag doll on what he presumed was the back seat of the vehicle. At least one pothole had resulted in him violently banging the back of his head, to a chorus of swears. A couple of times he attempted to start up some conversation in the form of yelled expletives that were too rude to be written down, but there was no response. After a short while the nauseating motion had him clamping his mouth shut and attempting to block out the world in a struggle to avoid being sick. Not that he'd have any problems vomiting all over the frog's car (he made a note to make the bastard designated driver the next time they all went out for a drink), but considering that he was currently confined in a fairly small and enclosed space, he didn't really enjoy the idea of rolling around the stuff for the rest of the journey. It would have been bad on a normal day, but his senses had been extra strong since he'd botched the spell and he was fairly sure that he'd have fainted if he ended up in that situation.
After what felt like several hours (England to France was some distance, after all. On that note, how the heck did Francis get him through customs? A wriggling, person-sized sack must have been at least somewhat suspicious) the car finally ground to a permanent halt, and he was once again unceremoniously picked up and tossed over a shoulder like... well, sack. The crunching gravel of the drive was soon replaced by plush and sound-absorbing carpet, as he was dumped onto the floor.
Once the ropes were unravelled and the sack removed, Francis was greeted with an expression that could only be described as 'pissed and dangerous'. Fortunately, his long-time fre-nemey and recent-ally was still slightly disoriented, and an attempt to launch himself at the Frenchman had only resulted in him ending up flat on his face against one of Francis' Persian rugs, moaning slightly and cursing under his breath. He squinted against the bright lights, eyes struggling to adjust after the darkness of the sack. He vision was too bleary to even notice the other man temporarily vacating the room.
In the time that it took for Arthur to somewhat re-orient himself with the world and force himself into what was technically an upright position (the car journey was seriously starting to take it's toll and he felt nauseous and incredibly dizzy, like being drunk without all the fun side effects), Francis had returned with a bottle of wine and two glasses. Arthur wanted to scoff and request tea, because that was what Englishmen drank instead of poncy wine, and it would do something towards settling his stomach, but at the moment his main priority was to leave the Frenchman a bloodied mess on his own floor so he held his tongue on the matter and instead blurted out the main question on his mind:
"Why the bloody fuck did you kidnap me?!"
Francis took his merry time delicately pouring the wine equally into the glasses, placing his own onto the small table by the sofa and handing the other one across to Arthur, where he was still sat on the floor. His tail was currently curled up against his body, the hairs sticking up in a manner akin to a chimney brush. His ears, although naturally floppy, were clearly pressed against his skull. He was sure that he looked fairly unpleasant, as he felt distinctly ruffled and sweat made his loose-fitting shirt cling unpleasantly to his too-warm body. He hissed at the glass and lunged, but Francis simply held him back with a delicate foot and placed the glass next to his own.
"Put your claws back in, kitten." Francis gently nudged him away from his own body, all too aware of his current temperament and apparently keen to avoid a mauling. "I brought you here today as a friend."
"Some bloody friend you are! I'm not going to sleep with you... no matter how much you try to get me drunk." He eyed the wine cautiously and unconsciously wriggled away from the man on the sofa. Francis ignored him, far too used to such accusations to take them personally any more.
"This is... interesting, no?" He gestured at the ears a tail. "Am I to presume you made a mistake whilst casting a spell?" He took Arthur's annoyed silence as an answer.
"It's nothing... really. It'll fix itself." He realised his earlier question had been completely ignored and repeated himself. "Why exactly am I here?"
"Hmm. You are here, ma cheri." Arthur hissed at the female use of the term but said nothing, "because we are all tired of watching you dance around Amerique. I'll admit it was amusing at first, but in recent years it has become fairly tedious."
"What the hell are you talking about?"
"Mon dieu, you're so dense it pains me." He aborted another of Arthur's attempts to attack whilst effortlessly keeping a hold of his wine glass, taking a small sip. "The simple fact of the matter is that both of you idiots clearly love here other-" Arthur spluttered in shock, but Francis continued "- and it's about time you both confessed your feelings, got together and then made sweet love." He winked lasciviously at this last part.
"Good God..."
"And that's why big brother France is here to help."
"No, just... no."
"You don't have any choice, little kitten-"
"Stop bloody calling me that!"
"As I was saying, confess your deeply repressed feelings to Alfred and then we can all get on with our lives. You should be grateful, you know. I had to get my precious Mathieu to leave the house so I could do this for you."
"Matthew's here? Good lord, you're even more of a pervert than I thought..."
"No more so than you and Alfred." Anything further was interrupted by a warning growl.
"Just... shut up! I keep telling you, there's nothing between us! I don't even like him!" But the blush on his face betrayed him. Francis was well-versed in the emotions of love, so nothing Arthur could say or do now to convince him anything other than the truth; that the uptight gentleman was absolutely enamoured by the obnoxious, over-loud younger, burger-scoffing nation that he had once raised.
"You're not going to give in? Alright then." Francis took advantage of Arthur's slow responses and generally befuddled state to grab him and start looping the ropes around his upper torso. He yowled loudly and tried to break free, but all the moving around made him feel as though a brass band had taken residence in his skull and the nausea was only growing in severity. Even someone as traditionally weak as Francis had little trouble restraining him. He was now positive the spell had made him smaller, because there was no way the frog would have been strong enough to manhandle him in this manner otherwise. Once he had finished tying him up again, Francis dropped him on the sofa.
"Anything to say, lapin?"
Arthur looked distinctly flustered, but didn't give in.
"Hmm, well you're staying here until you can lose enough pride to admit it, no matter how long that may take. Enjoy!" And at this he dropped the sack back over his head, lifted him up and took him into another room.
Swearing muffled and arms thoroughly restrained, a firm hold on his legs prevented Arthur from kicking Francis into oblivion. By this point Arthur was so exhausted, so motion sick and so generally disoriented that his poor brain gave up and he happily welcomed the darkness of unconsciousness.
AN: Two updates in as many days! I'm doing myself proud here ;)
I'm astounded by the number of favourites and people following me! But please, I know it probably sounds silly, but I love nothing more than getting a review from someone, even if it's only a couple of words ^-^ They make me so happy!
Anyways, I hope you all have a wonderful Christmas! No snow here, I'm afraid... just rain, rain and more rain.