Summary: Dr. Kirkland, after a long string of events, finds himself shuttled into the dusty old town of Sandy Flats, adjusting to the hilarious characters, dark villains, and charming heroes of a classic but eccentric Western town.
Pairings: USUK, PRUCAN, GERITA, SPAMANO, HUNGAUST, possible GIRIPAN.
Warnings: Yaoi/Boys-Love, heavy language and possible suggestive situations. Minor violence.
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Chapter Four: A Run-In With a Frenchman
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Arthur stood in front of the saloon, its classic swinging doors challenging him to take action and go inside the building. However, ever since his frightening warning from Matthew earlier that day, the doctor couldn't help but feel a little nervous. Especially about that Francis bloke! He seemed unbearably shady- what man in his right mind would volunteer to be a showgirl? Hopefully Arthur could get his drink from Matthew instead of that draft Frenchman, to protect himself from drugging. Pushing the doors open, the Brit was met with an intriguing sight; all three tables in the surprisingly small room nearly sparkled in perfect cleanliness, polished ruthlessly by someone. More than likely Matthew, who called out at that moment, setting down the glass he was drying to wave. "Arthur! You made it!" his cheery friend called out. "Uncle Francis is just in the back; he should be out soon. C'mere, choose your poison," he gestured to the assortment of liquor behind him.
"Hm, do you have scotch on you?" the Englishman asked politely, taking a seat at one of the stools and looking around for any furtive Frenchman. He'd dealt with them plenty in the past. Sodding frogs always trying to find holes in you pockets or worse, your trousers. Never trust a Frenchman, that's what he told himself. Unfortunately, he had found himself sleeping with the bloody bastards on more than one occasion, however, no one needed to know about his… sexual endeavours in this town. A clean slate, a brand new place. He should give this Francis fellow a clean slate as well. Arthur was a professional abroad, and stereotyping in a small town where grudges obviously lasted was not a wise thing to do. The Brit took a deep breath, but was quickly interrupted.
"Scotch? Surely ze newcomer does not want zomething more… exotic?" A thick accent pealed in the air, as an attractive tall man with a striking resemblance to Matthew stood in the door way. He smirked at Arthur, raising an elegant eyebrow and gesturing with his full arms. "Mattieu! You are yet to introduce ze lovely man to me! Who ees your friend?" he prompted, sauntering over to the bar with long, confident dance-like movements.
"Francis, this is Dr. Kirkland. Arthur, this is Francis," Matthew introduced plainly, handing the scotch to Arthur, who felt a twang of familiarity. Meeting new Frenchmen in a bar with alcohol. Strange an unwanted memories came flying back to him with startling speed, and he was almost thankful to hear Francis' distraught cry to pull him away from them. The blonde looked a cross between offended and upset.
"Non! Arthur and I will be on ze best of terms, surely it ees not too much to ask to call you by your given name? Non? Marvellous!" There was not much room to argue without seeming incredibly rude. The Brit wasn't sure if Francis would hear him out however strong his argument was, anyway.
Arthur blanched, taking another gulp of scotch. "Well, I suppose Arthur will do, however-"
"Splendid! Mattieu, won't you go scurry and take out ze rubbish? I can, ah, satiate our dear Arthur in ze meantime," Francis ordered, leaving the peaceful blonde no room for negotiation. Arthur and Matthew shared a worried look as the other moved as slowly as he physically could, obviously wary about leaving the two alone. Arthur gulped, feeling the back of his neck grow hot, trying to ignore how Francis leaned close while he finished his scotch before refilling it. "So, Arthur, what brings you out to zees little town? All ze way from Angleterre? I am sure zat zere ees nothing of interest to a doctor in zees parts! So dry and lonely out here in ze desert, with not a single person to keep you company!" The Frenchman had somehow sidled his way around the bar, sitting on the stool adjacent to Arthur's own.
The Brit leaned away, sipping his new drink tentatively. "Erm, work." He addressed curtly, placing his scotch on the bar. Francis, however, placed his fingers over Arthur's, clamping them onto the glass and slowly raising it to the other's lips for another sip before pulling it down again. He blushed deeply, watching the Frenchman's determined stare with unease. "But you have Matthew, surely you aren't too lonely?" he added innocently.
Francis chuckled, letting Arthur release the grasp but holding their fingers entwined. "But Mattieu cannot provide ze sort of company I seek, Arthur…"
"F-Francis, I really don't-" he protested, attempting to stay polite, but was cut off by the other's lips forcefully attacking his own, hands flying in search of something to grab on to, to push the Frenchman away. Arthur promptly pulled back, not allowing a continuation of the frightening act. Unfortunately, Francis' hunger was not quelled. He leapt forward, knocking the scotch over the bar. It made a loud clanging noise, the amber liquid spilling everywhere. Arthur felt it dampen his shirt as the other shoved him over the counter, roughly pressing him onto the wet surface. "You frog! I'm not that dru-" His words were cut off again, hands pinned expertly above his head to give way for the Frenchman's groping fingers, Arthur's voice muffled against the aggressive lips.
"Mattie, ya in here? I left my hat…" Alfred's loud voice echoed in the room, and for once the doctor was thankful to hear his idiocy. Francis looked up with a glare, and Arthur fell back, head making a quiet thud as he fainted.
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Sorry for how short this is… Anyway, prepare for hilarity to ensue in the next chapter!