Good morning, good afternoon or whatever time you will read this.
It might be one of my first english written fanfiction at all, so bear with my poor english.
I also might write it more french-sided, since I am a France rp'er and know way more about France than of Scotland.
Pairing: Scotland x France
Rating: T
Genre: Historical.
As I imagine how it all went down. I might miss events, but that's a minor loss in my opinion.
Disclaimer: France and Scotland belong to Europe, Francis Bonnefoy belongs to Himaruya and Alasdair Iain Angus McKirkland (Scotland, and I gave him this name) belongs to a user in pixiv.
_
After they freed Mr. Peel, the magician, they remained in their monk robes and disguised themselves some more. The blood on the fabric didn't really matter, since they couldn't cover up Peel at all. Now, they had to think of where to put him. They left the Abbey in a steady, but not to hurried pace. "Juist pretend everything is normal.", Alasdair said in between grit teeth. The magician was more heavy than he had thought in spite both carried him in between.
They decided to walk through the poorer quarters. Far away from the noblemen, no one would really look at them anyway. Actually, since they were on their way to scotland, they could as well just have taken the magician with them. But Francis was bothered a lot by that thought. Alasdair couldn't do this. And as much as he loved the redhead, he would provide that the magician would soon have to leave. Then, Alasdair came up with a different idea. Something, the blonde hadn't expected.
"We'll bring him tae th' courtesans… ah ken that thay huv tae deal wi' secrets 'n' sic hings daily. Thay cuid keep him 'n' nurse him. 'N' then mibbie even git tae ken someone wha cuid carry him awa'. Aff, tae anither land, whaur na yin kens him. Thay micht charge us some dosh fur this service, bit it's th' best ah ken."
"You make it sound reasonable. .. Oui.. that could actually work."
The two young men came to a delighting looking etablissement. The house of the courtesans was squished in between two other houses in a street, but this one looked really appealing with frivole decorations, veils and lace even on the outside, beautiful curtains that graced the windows. And outside there was girls trying to charm and lure customers into their room. As they saw the three men approaching, they were unsure of how to react. They only saw two monks in bloodstained robes and a man who seemed like he was dying.
Alasdair decided for Francis to talk to the women, since he was more secure with the french. The blonde himself felt rather insecure.
Francis had met courtesans among the french camps during the war. They were kind of creepy and he felt like he would betray Alasdair when he would come closer to any of those. And here he was, ordered by his own husband, to actually flirt and to convince those women to help them.
"excusez-moi, pourriez-vous nous aider, s'il vous plaît? Nous avons besoin de trouver un séjour en toute sécurité pour cet homme. (excuse me, could you help us, please? We need to find a safe stay for this man.)", the young frenchman began, revealing his face as he lifted the hood.
The young girls squealed, they were caught right off by the charm of the blonde man with the deep blue eyes. Soon they were gathered around Francis, asking him certain questions. The blonde shot an angry look at Alasdair, who grinned like a cheshire cat. Why was he grinning? Wasn't he fearing that these beautiful young girls were trying to catch his husband?
The prostitutes were cut off and called back by the 'mother of the brothel'. She stalked souveranely towards the three men, asking in a polite manner what their wish were. Francis repeated his question, still confident that this was the only way. The payment was high.
"Vous pourriez aussi bien le travailler à l'extérieur à notre bordell. (You could as well work it off at our bordell.)", the woman said. She was in her late 40s, but sure knew what she wanted. It was obvious that she had been through tough times.
Francis just stared at her, then hesitatently translated to Scotland.
"Whit? she wants us tae become mon whores! whit a boot, I'll ne'er share ye wi' a'body! You're mah guidwife, 'n' that's final! ower ah skelp this mon intae a gutter than huvin tae ken that ye mate wi' some hackit auld bas!", Alasdair spat out some more cussing words. Even the 'mother' understood, what was going on. But before she could say any more, Alasdair opened his wallet and threw some money at the woman. He had kept the money all the way long. Being a scottish, he was more of the kind to keep the money instead of spending it. He lived more on Francis' money, so they got along somehow. Only in emergency, he would use his own – just like now.
"I love you, Scott…", Fran could only say, being baffled by how possessive he just had been.
The man was left behind at the brothel. Francis and Alasdair had also given the monk robes to the etablissement.
The blonde and the redhead soon left Bourges behind them, continuing their travel across France, following the streets walked by many feet. The environment was still comfortable, filled with green grass, bushes and trees in which birds sang their song.
"Whit's oor neist heading?"
"It is Vichy.", Francis stated with a certain grin across his face.
"…'n'? wid ye mynd telling me something aboot this city?"
"Oh, It will be a surprise. But believe me, you will never forget Vichy."
The city was rather small and calm. Instead of going for an Inn, Francis led his horse towards a convent. A convent that looked quite open. Also, a few more people than normal were around this place.
"Monks again? whit's that wi' ye 'n' thaim, wee prince?"
"Just be patient, renard!"
The young frenchman talked to a few monks and one of them led them friendly to the stables, chattering towards Francis, seldom looking at the redhead. It was obvious that Alasdair was a foreigner – again.
The garden of the convent was huge and everywhere the smell of herbs, and then something rather disguisting – sulfur!
"This is tairible, France! how come did ye leid me 'ere? tell me!", Alasdair demanded, grabbing Francis by the arm. The lad just looked at him like he had said something incomprehensive. Not that the scotsman ever laid off his funny accent, expecting the whole world to understand him.
"I told you, it is a surprise. I cannot say any more. Just bear with this sulfur smell. It is nothing bad about it. Trust me in this.", Francis put on an excusing smile.
The two were led to a room in a pleasant looking house, a bit off the central building of the convent. The room was kept simple. Just two beds, a table with also two chairs, a chest for to put the wardrobe or luggage. And that was all. The only thing that spruced the room was the little wooden cross above the door.
Another protest was lying on the tongue of the scotsman. He didn't need much, but this room looked very sterile.. simple.. he felt encaged.
"This room isn't meant for us to spend much time in here. We'll be off to another building. Or more buildings, I don't know. Just leave your stuff here. Come on."
After having left behind their luggage, and also hid things like money and documents, they locked the room and went out to another larger building. On their way they came to a well. In the middle of that well was obviously a natural fountain that supplied the well with fresh, but slightly bad smelling water. Also, there was signs saying that whoever took water from the fountain, should spill the excess not back into the well.
In the larger building, a monk talked to Francis again, saying in french that everything was prepared. The young frenchman still kept it all a secret. But Alasdair could guess where this was all going to, as he saw the bathtubs in the larger room they entered. The room was spruced with a lot of herbs and decorative ornaments all over the walls. The floor was covered with tiles that were held in warm colours.
"Is this…some kind o' health resort?", the scotsman asked, he frowned all over the room, then noticed that his companion got undressed and blushed. "Ye wur planning this a' alang, weren't ye?"
"Oui. Don't you like it? Our travelings will hold even more surprise. It's going to be so much fun. And Oui, I wanted you to remember every single station actually…", the blonde sat down a smaller bench that was on a wall with a few faucets. Also, there was bars of soap, bottles with lotion, and herbs that were aromatising the room. Francis started to wash himself thoroughly.
After another moment of cluelessness, the redhead joined him.
"I might have to point out.. that this remembers me when we had our first bath together. But Vichy has to offer a lot more. Also massages and special.. things. Like you get covered in this soil, mixed with the water of the vichy sources… They're not so special yet, but every visitor here knows what to talk about to others. Hum, and also there is some internal application. Most meals are cooked with this water and we are to drink from it also.
But besides that.. I think it will be good just to.. relax. Forget about the war. Wash it all away."
"Massages, eh? a'm. Nae sure aboot /this/, Francis.", Alasdair had to admit. He watched as the younger nation rinsed off his soapy body. In fact it surely was turning him on. Yet, the other nation seemed unaware of it all.
"Then you just leave out that part. Or let /me/ do it. You liked my hands, you said a while ago, didn't you?", the blue-eyed chuckled.
"Na, cheers!", he quickly replied. Now things were getting close. It was a bad idea. He didn't mind getting a bath from time to time, but getting dirty with it was kind of.. contra productive.
Francis hesitated for a moment. "Why are you so tense? This is meant for relaxation…"
The frenchman went behind the redhead and carefully places his hands onto the broad shoulders. He began to gently knead the muscles through the skin, causing the older nation to moan in relief. Appearantly, the scotsman had never been able to relax at all during his training to become one of the strongest nations…the blonde felt sorry for the older one. What kind of hell must he have been through? He continued working closer to the spine, then a bit up the neck, where also a lot of tension was housed. After a while, France felt like he had worked a good amount.
"good.. now circulate your shoulders a bit…", a louder cracking was heard, accompanied with some more subtle grinding noises. But it seemed like joints had glitched back into the right place and Alasdair himself looked more relaxed.
Motivated by that, Francis continued in his massage. He began to work along the hair, or the muscles that were wrapped around the skull to be more exact. Gentle, slow motions, light pressing here and there. He also didn't leave out the ears. The soft flesh reddened as he knead them steadily. Then cautiously the muscles of the face. Francis could feel them and was amazed, how many muscles it must take to actually form an expression. He moved his hands carefully so he wouldn't accidentally poke his husband into one or both eyes, leaving him blinded. But Scotland on the other hand was fully enjoying it. The man had closed his vivid emerald eyes and leaned his head back, while the other man tried to balance the weight on one of his arms.
With a playful smile, the blonde placed a kiss onto the daydreaming Alasdair and giggled.
"Do you want more?"
"Mmh..Na. Ah think I'm guid. . Bit we cuid dae sic hings mair often."
"Yup. I think so too. I don't know how it will be over there in your place. Vichy is the only place with this 'water-culture' within France."
"Weel if thare is na sic steid, we cuid aye dae oor ain. Depending oan howfur mony rooms, we kin huv a room whilk we kin. Decorate lik' this tae huv at least th' same atmosphere."
The next few days they'd only relax. There was also some kind of swimming pool with warmer water. And something like hot springs beneath one of the building. The meals were tasty, but also healthy, so the monks said. The whole experience was but very tense for the two. At a point of time they felt like they were a few centuries younger. The point on which Francis found that it was time to go again.
"It does not do any good if we remain longer. But.. I'll have to look at the map which way to go…Okay. Next one is St.-Étienne. Right now I don't know anything to say about this, but.. I'll remember when we arrived."
"It's a'richt. I'll trust ye in thare. . Ye keek sae sleepy, wantae huv a nap afore we continue?", Alasdair and Francis had been on their way now for a few weeks. They didn't know how much longer it would take.
"Non, I'm good. I'll just have to absolutely snap out of this lethargy. And I think we gained weight.", Francis poked his husbands belly.
"Ah'ament pie-eater?"
"Then why did you make it sound like a question?", the frenchman laughed and poked some more. Alasdair winced and pretended to be more ticklish than he was.
"Ah don't ken? stoap this…We wull be loosing pie-eater either, whin we gang yin gawin` a' th' time."
"Oui.. it is only for a limited time. Hmm…Then let's go, shall we? Or is there something you want to do still?"
"Aye.", Alasdair kissed his husband swiftly onto the lips. "We kin gang noo."