AN: Mild smut in this chapter. Don't worry, he doesn't bone her.
Arthur stood dumbfounded at the sight of her, made speechless by the markings covering her back. Mary slowly turned to face him, graceful as a dove as she approached him, now nude. As she stepped closer, Arthur noticed pale freckles dotting her shoulders and the bridge of her nose and he thought they made her look all the more angelic.
"I, uh," Arthur stumbled back at the edge of the bed as she got closer, "I'm sorry, ma'am, but I shouldn't b-be here." She pushed him down on his back on the bed and his mind just about went blank.
"So you're an English boy," she teased softly, her hips shifting so that her mound rubbed against his—oh, god, he thought, reaching for her hips to pull her off him.
But she was stronger than she looked.
Seeing what he was trying to do, she frowned down at him. "Am I not attractive?" she asked, in a quiet, mousy voice, genuinely looking saddened by his rejection.
"Oh, darling, you really are beautiful, but I mean it when I say I shouldn't be here," he explained apologetically.
"But I want to pleasure you," she whined, leaning down to begin kissing at his chest.
"No no no, you don't want that," he stuttered, using his hips and legs this time to roll her onto her back with himself on top.
She gave him a surprised look. "Oh, you wanted to be on top! That's perfectly fine with me," she purred, her legs wrapping around his hips as her fingers worked around his slacks, loosening them.
Why is this girl so damn strong! he thought in shock as he tried to pull himself off her, unconsciously giving her better access to his front, making it easier for her to pull down his pants and reveal him to her. His face turned red. "You're very quick with your hands," he stammered in compliment. "But I need to go."
"Please don't go," she whined cutely. "You're the most gentle man that's been in my bed in months."
Arthur blushed even deeper, unsure if he should be offended or flattered.
"I'll be your gentlest client ever because I am not having sex with you," he said, trying once against to break free.
This time, she cast him an angry glare. "What an insult," she said, pushing him off her, and since they were still so close to the edge of the bed, Arthur fell clean off, yelping as he landed hard on his ass.
"I-I'll still pay you!" he promised, wanting to appease her. "Raincheck! We can have sex next time! Just not right now."
"Get out!" she shrieked, tears welling in her eyes. "I never want to see you ever again, you molly!"
Arthur felt a familiar sting at the insult, reminding him of all the times school boys have called him the same, never understanding why. Without another word, he scrambled to his feet and left the room, hoping that no thugs heard her screaming.
"Alonzo," chimed Francis with a smile, giving the Cuban's shoulder a squeeze. "It's been too long. Let's catch up."
Alonzo grunted, brushing the Frenchman's hairy hand off his shoulder to get a bottle of rum and two glasses that made Francis miss Arthur's polished crystal ones. He poured them both drinks, handing one to Francis before sitting down. "You've been making a name for yourself lately in the White North," remarked Alonzo. "The French are particularly not a fan of your handiwork."
"I happen to be better at making money off their pelts than they are," he shrugged. "But, my friend, you have been very naughty lately, haven't you?" he teased. "I heard your men ransacked one of the Spanish Queen's ships."
"She won't miss the gold," he chuckled.
Francis hummed in thought, sipping at the strong liquor before saying, "I'm sure you've hidden it somewhere safe. Wouldn't want the wrong people to get their hands on it."
"Of course," said Alonzo, his eyes remaining fixed on Francis. He hasn't touched his drink yet.
"I could offer my assistance in keeping it safe," smiled Francis. "That's what friends are for, after all."
"How generous of you," hummed Alonzo, his brow cocking. "But I have more than enough men to handle my treasures."
Francis almost missed the slight creak in the floorboards behind him. With a split second thought, he sprang from his armchair only to come face to face with two thugs, both much bigger and stronger than him.
"Alonzo, I'm hurt," whined Francis, feeling cornered between the three large Cubans.
"Don't be. Should've realized you were a double-crossing snake a long time ago," replied Alonzo. "Never thought you'd sell your soul to those islander demons, though."
Francis paled. "What are you talking about?"
"I'm talking about that scrawny brat you brought in here. Thought I wouldn't recognize an Englishman if I saw one? Fucker even walks like he shits gold."
Francis scowled. Of course Arthur couldn't pass off as anything less. "Well then. You can have him if you let me go," he promised.
Alonzo snorted. He gave a wave of his hands and the other two quickly pounced on Francis. His first thought was to throw what was left of the drink in one of them's face, another thought to slip under the other's arm as he swung his fist at him, but he was only caught around the waist.
"Let me go, you ape!" snapped Francis, fearing for his life for the first time in a long time.
Francis was thrown back into his armchair, his arms soon bound against the armrests. Alonzo simply watched it all, pulling a small blade from his coat. "I think I deserve a little fun," he slurred sadistically, walking around the desk. He walked behind Francis, dragging the flat side of his blade along his cheekbone. "I always thought you were too pretty for our line of work."
Francis gulped quietly, gritting his teeth as he kept his eyes stubbornly ahead. The Cubans' gaze felt heavy against the back of his head, but after everything he's suffered in life, it would take more than this to crack him.
"Nothing to say?" hummed Alonzo. "That's all right. You wouldn't be the first slimy piece of shit to walk in here. Just gotta cut you all out one by o—"
One of the double doors swung open, interrupting him. With his blade still flush with Francis' cheek, he and his thugs all glanced up to see their intruder.
Arthur froze in the doorway, taking in the scene before him.
"Bloody fucking hell," he grumbled, pulling out a dagger he kept sheathed at his back just as the two large men charged at him.
They were big, but Arthur was fast. Adjusting the grip on his dagger, he slipped behind one of the large Cubans, severing the tendons behind the knee and using his body as a shield from the other before catching his arm and snapping it back hard and fast enough to break his elbow. The two incapacitated, he only had Alonzo left to worry about, but the sight of Francis tied to that chair, with a blade to his cheek…
"Serves you right for backstabbing me," snapped Arthur. He knew it was compulsive of him, but he didn't think he'd have another opportunity to vent after this moment.
Francis grimaced in distaste. "You can scold me later, you twat," he snapped back.
Arthur scoffed, adjusting his grip on his dagger again. He could hear the two thugs behind him dragging themselves to the door to mend themselves, blood pooling along their path. It allowed him to worry only about Alonzo. "And what's your problem with him? Did he fuck your daughters or something?"
The man laughed. "Nothing so simple," he chuckled. "I'm afraid Mr Bonnefoy has committed an unforgivable crime by allying himself with you and your kind. The punishment in this case would normally be exile at sea, but we'll have to settle for something quicker in this case. I'm not known for my patience."
Arthur rolled his eyes. Tired of small talk, he calculated his best course of action and deciding that Francis didn't need his face as much as he thought he did, Arthur ignored the fact that Alonzo held a blade to his cheek and sprang forward, his own blade tucked close as he loomed around front of Francis, forcing the other man to dodge by shifting behind. He saw red from the corner of his eye, but not enough to feel worried, and drew his blade upwards in an uppercut to pierce Alonzo's jaw. The Cuban deflected with his arm, burying Arthur's blade through his forearm. Arthur saw a flash of light glinting off metal to the side and quickly raised his own arm to catch the other man's wrist in a stalemate where brute force would vanquish.
But Arthur didn't have brute force on his side—he had strategy. With his blade still buried in Alonzo's arm, he yanked hard and suddenly downward, jolting the other man into falling forward only to hit his head on Arthur's raised knee, dropping his knife. With Alonzo down, Arthur took the liberty to kneel down to punch him, hard, over and over again, only satisfied enough to stop when he heard bone crunching under his knuckles and the dark man was left unrecognizable under him. "You're coming with me," spat Arthur, rising with his blade held to Francis' throat now. Now that the adrenaline was easing, he could see that Francis suffered a gash along his cheekbone and that a light trail of blood curtained from it. "And no funny business from you. If you want to live, you will do exactly as I say."
Francis gazed at Arthur, wide-eyed with a mixture of fear and amazement. He thought to himself that Arthur must have known that acting rashly would put Francis' life in danger, and he couldn't believe that Arthur actually ignored the fact that Alonzo held him bound at knife-point just to capture his target. He was beginning to reevaluate where he stood in Arthur's opinion.
Francis slowly dropped his head in a nod. Arthur wiped the blood off his blade with Alonzo's clothes, then stripped the man of his shirt to bind his stabbed arm so he wouldn't bleed everywhere as he was taken to the ship. Only then did he release Francis.
"Carry him," he ordered the Frenchman. "If any of his cronies come to his rescue, I'll fight them off, not you."
Francis simply nodded again. He thought he would've gotten more of a tongue lashing from the Englishman but he wasn't ready to let his guard down. With his face still bleeding, he lifted the Cuban onto his shoulder to carry him down the stairs with Arthur in front of them, his back to them with a confidence that Francis couldn't understand.
They received a lot of frightened stares as they walked out of the brothel, the thugs nowhere to be seen. Francis figured they must have jumped ship when they saw their captain go down. Either that, or they're regrouping elsewhere for revenge and that thought sent a chill down his spine. Still, as they walked down the streets of Havana, they were the most conspicuous trio and earned a lot of curious glares. Francis realized that Arthur made his spectacle on purpose when he saw people parting down the street to make way for them: they did not want to stand in the way of the man that took down their biggest crime lord.
As they embarked the ship, Arthur still hadn't said anything to Francis. He walked over to Francis' co-captain, and in his perfectly accented Parisian French, ordered him to set sail for the rest of their fleet. Dumbfounded, Jacques turned to Francis for some sort of confirmation for these orders, and Francis could only nod in confirmation. With that simple gesture, the ship exploded with activity as everyone rushed to get back out to sea to the English fleet that awaited them.
Two Frenchman approached Francis to take the unconscious Cuban off his hands, dragging him to the main mast to tie him down. Francis silently made his way to his cabin, like a ghost treading the ship.
He filled a bucket to bring to his cabin and clean up his face and try to reduce the damage done, but he found Arthur already sitting there with a bucket and clean cloth, as well as medical supplies that Francis didn't recognize.
"Sit," he said, sounding both soft and commanding in a way Francis had never heard before. Francis bit back his pride and did as told, sitting in front of his vanity where Arthur began to clean his wound. Pressing the cloth to it, he reached for the alcohol to disinfect it, pouring a generous dose over the cloth. When the cold liquid hit his open wound, Francis gasped from the sharp pain it caused and would've jumped from his seat, but Arthur held him down with a firm grip on his shoulder.
"Explain yourself," he said, his tone still low, but Francis somehow detected some fury in his voice. "You wanted to double cross me, huh?"
"N-no," mumbled Francis. "I just.. I just wanted to find out where he kept his treasures."
"Don't try to pretend like I didn't see that smug look on your face as I was pulled out of the room," said Arthur, his voice sharp and warning. He dipped his surgical needle into Francis' skin, weaving stitches into place and tying them expertly, albeit out of practice.
"I had to play a part too," grumbled Francis, keeping his eyes away from his reflection, grossed out by the sight of his skin being pulled from his cheek like that. "I needed Alonzo to believe I was his friend."
"My point, Francis, is that Alonzo's treasure was not our objective," stated Arthur sternly. "So not only did you lie to me about where Alonzo was in the first place, you lied about your motives for working with me. Give me one good reason why I shouldn't turn you in along with him?"
Francis grimaced at him. "First of all, you're still on my ship, surrounded by my sailors," he said icily.
"And I have a needle sticking into your face," interrupted Arthur, tying another stitch and clipping the string with his surgical scissors.
Francis scowled. "You're the reason my cover was blown," he spat.
"I'm also the reason you're still alive," he reminded, dipping his needle in for one last stitch. "If I were you, I'd at least be grateful for that much instead of being a backstabbing twit."
"Arthur," called Francis, his tone suddenly soft, almost pleading. He reached up, his hand gripping Mathieu's chemise that Arthur still wore and was now stained with blood, the gesture unusually familiar. "I have no intentions of betraying you. If that were what I wanted, I had countless opportunities. Please believe me."
Arthur's eyes glistened. He tied the last stitch, putting his surgical equipment away to pretend like he was thinking seriously. "You have one last chance to earn my trust," he replied quietly. "If you're anything less than honest with me, even if you're just omitting, then you can forget about your contract." He deliberately neglected to mention that the executioner's block would come next if that happened. Somehow, he couldn't bring himself to commit to the threat. "Understood?"
Francis nodded solemnly. He finally lifted his gaze to the enclosed gash along his cheek, observing the handiwork carefully. A 'thank you' hung from the tip of his tongue, but he couldn't bring himself to say it, to bridge whatever gap still existed in their blooming partnership. Somehow, that leap seemed far too terrifying.
"Th-thank… you." The last word hung quietly when he turned and realized he was alone in his cabin and that Arthur could not hear him.