Title: More Than Meets the Eye – Chapter 6 – Low-Key Fascination (Part II)
Author: Udon Penguin
Character(s) or Pairing(s): UK/Japan, Russia/China, with cameo appearance of France and Spain
Rating: PG-13
Warning: a teensy bit of gore (I don't think it even qualifies as gore…), alcohol, sensuality, poopie mouth, blah blah
Summary: Kiku patches up his wound at Arthur's flat…
A/N: I just hope my French makes sense. This is still a breather. So sorry for the lack of climax.
A few French translations, since Francis just loves to hear himself talk… (Please excuse my French.)
Comment = In context, it means "what," though the direct translation is "how."
N'inquiète pas, mon ami = "Don't worry, my friend."
Alors = "so" or "then"
D'accord = "okay?"
C'est impossible = "That's impossible."
Dis donc, connard = "Hey, asshole ((or something as bad as or worse than that))!"
…
Arthur slumped on the chair, hardly touching the teacup before him. The tea had already gone cold, but he could care less. His eyes wandered as he fiddled with the red roses on the table. It was roughly a quarter till ten. The last time he checked on the Japanese was about half an hour ago, and he had been waiting until now. I wonder if he's alright. He could not be sure, and the uncertainty had irked him. Though Kiku's wellbeing should hardly be of his concern... Was he injured badly? He bit his lip.
Half an hour had been long enough. Arthur leapt out of the chair and dashed to the bathroom door. He knocked once. There was no answer. He knocked twice. There was still no answer. Cor Blimey! Could he be - ?
Just when Arthur was about to crank open the doorknob, the door swung open and Kiku wobbled out of the bathroom and fell into his arms. The Japanese groaned, his head leaning against the blonde's chest. The periwinkle kimono slid off, exposing an inviting, white shoulder – apparently, the sash was loosely tied and the wearer had a scent of alcohol about him. Arthur gulped, as he veered his keen, emerald eyes to the tempting flesh uncovered before him. He stared for some time until his sense of reason had brought him back to the present (awkward) circumstances. As much as his rational side urged to cover up Kiku's shoulder, another side of him craved to watch on, even daring him to advance a little further. He shook his head and adjusted the kimono without as so much as a glance: reason won.
"Arthur..." Kiku whispered to Arthur's ear, words slurring. The voice resonating like the tinkling of glass in the blonde's ear, as graceful porcelain hands draped over Arthur's firm shoulders.
"You're drunk," Arthur finally urged out a few words, though he was still locked in place. Gradually losing consciousness, the dark-haired youth drooped over, but Arthur caught him before Kiku was dragged down by his weight and exhaustion.
"Comment?!" a hoarse cough rang from the background.
That voice... The British felt a blood vessel twitch as displeasure spread across his usual charming features.
"And I was wondering when you would ever get laid," the voice continued, snickering.
Arthur swung his head in the direction of where Francis stood, his lush green eyes intensified with forest-fire anger. "Why, good evening, Francis. You're just as annoying as usual," the British greeted the French sardonically, "Did you pay the money for our rent, or have you forgotten again?"
"N'inquiète pas, mon ami. It's all taken care of," Francis smirked, gesturing with a shake of his hand, "Alors, I'll leave you two alone, since you're apparently busy. I have Antonio and Gilbert over, so don't get too loud, d'accord?"
"You don't have to worry. Unlike you, I don't shag everything that moves," Arthur coolly returned a smirk at Francis, who had his back turned away, almost about to head out to the kitchen.
The French flicked his strawberry blond hair and amiably faced his callous roommate, "Ah, is that how you see me? I'm hurt - "
"Good to hear that you are," Arthur strutted past him arrogantly, carrying a drowsy Kiku into his room, "Now if you'll excuse us, we're a little busy."
"Hey, Francis," Antonio popped his head out from the dining room, "I can't find it."
Francis arched a fine eyebrow, befuddled, as he followed his brunette friend to the kitchen, "Comment? C'est impossible. It was in the fridge all week..."
"Dis donc, connard! What have you done to my Château Margaux?" the French indignantly shouted at the gentleman.
"Why don't you check the loo and find out?" a moment of triumph gleamed in Arthur's eyes, a victorious smile cracked open as he shut and locked his door.
Incessant, muffled complaints followed between the bathroom and the kitchen, and the British was proud of his work. All had been settled, save for the load in his slightly sore arms. Despite the weight of the Japanese, he was so delicate that Arthur feared he might shatter to a million pieces if his fragile body should hit the floor. With his deft hands, the gentleman gently placed Kiku down onto the soft mattress, leaving the smaller man closer to the wall so that he would not fall off the bed. As he set Kiku down, the limp head swayed to the side as most of the fine midnight-black hair dangled back, unveiling his doll-like countenance. Such intricacy in the pureness of his pallid features had a charm of its own, and Arthur, who was so absorbed in his observation, forgot to tuck in the injured. He lied down beside Kiku, still studying the features as he brushed aside a few strands of hair. It was curious how he had not perceived these striking details during their time together at the bastion, where the proximity, the mood, and the occasion were perfect. When skin met skin, the back of his finger against the tender cheek, darkness crept up to Arthur. Apprehension seized him, as he inched slowly towards Kiku, coming face to face with the unconscious fellow before him.
Gloominess infiltrated his recesses, pricking his heart and filling it with an acrid melancholy that tore away at his flesh, but Arthur remained calm, as he sadly, endearingly whispered to the youth, "Kiku... what have you done to me?"
~END