L'Ancelot.
Francis loved Arthur, so much that it hurt. He insisted on doing everything for him, so that he wouldn't have to lift a finger, he was truly his servant, but not because Arthur made him so, because he wanted to be. It seemed to give him purpose and seeing Arthur happy, because of him, was all he wanted. No one in the world was allowed to come near Arthur without going through Francis first. He loved him and protected him. At first Arthur was reluctant to let Francis help him with everything, but he relented, and over the months became quite dependent on him. This all started from that day when he was involved in the explosion and nearly died. Francis had taken on the role of servant, and interestingly, the very word "servant" in French was "L'Ancelot". The coincidence was quite uncanny. Arthur adored him in a way that even he could not explain. Francis had become his love, his husband, his protector, his servant, and increasingly, his whole world.
One night as they slept in Francis' little loft in the city of Paris, Francis awoke and gazed at his husband lying in his arms beside him. "I only hope that I have made you happy mon amour" He whispered gently.
Arthur mumbled a little in his sleep and snuggled close to him. Francis stroked his blonde hair tenderly and planted little kisses on his forehead. A few moments later he left his love sleeping there and went to get some coffee. He stood looking out at the city of Paris from the balcony window, listening to some music, but not loud enough to wake Arthur up. "Je vais T aimer" by Michel Sardou. As the music filled his mind and heart, tears formed in Francis' eyes and his chest started heaving, as he leaned there against the frame of the window. "Je Vais T' aimer…" He whispered. "I will love you."
He felt a hand upon his arm, and he turned to see Arthur there, his eyes filled with tears as he watched him, he looked at him with concern, obviously worried about him.
"Francis…?" He whispered "You're crying… " He said softly. "What is the matter?"
"Nothing… nothing … mon amour…" He whispered. "I am a very passionate man… you ignite that passion… you fill my heart and soul. You are my world." He said as they melted into an embrace in front of the window.
"You… aren't going through another depression are you my love?" Arthur whispered.
"Non, mon amour." Francis replied. "My love expresses itself for you… is all…"
"You are very passionate, this has moved you to tears." He whispered in reply and kissed his lips gently.
"You are beautiful to me England." Francis whispered.
"Then take me to bed." England replied, "My Lancelot…" he said in a breathy whisper, tinged with a deep passion. Francis did as he was bid, and picked him up, carried him to the bedroom and laid him down on the bed, kissing his neck tenderly, pulling him close to him. He positioned himself on top of his smaller lover and began his lovemaking, the music of Michel Sardou now filling the whole apartment. England was swept away by his Lancelot, as if it was a dream come true. France marvelled at his lover's deep fervour as they made love, the way he moved, the way he cried out when he could hold back no more, and yes the tears, how he loved those tears.
Later as they lay in each other's arms, Francis whispered sweet nothings to him and smooched his lips. "You are amazing." He uttered. "You cry when you climax… I love it." He said holding a still shaking Arthur in his arms.
"I can't help it…" Arthur replied, "You do things to me that would make Marquis De Sade turn pale." He said with a shaky smile. "I love you for it."
"Is it wrong when I love to hear your words, your passion… to see tears in your eyes?" Uttered Francis. "You are loved England, loved now and forever."
"Oh Francis…"
"And I will love you as no one has ever dared love you…" He whispered, "Beyond everything you have ever wished for, just as I would dearly wish to be loved…"
England gulped back strong emotions as France poured out every ounce of his passion and held on to him as if for dear life. "Je Vais T'aime…" he said in a deep voice, as he held him.
It had he desired effect, and he had made England cry, he sobbed heartily in his strong arms just like he wanted him to. He'd made him cry without hurting him, without fighting him, without having to walk out on him. He watched as Arthur's tears came, and he gently wiped his eyes with his thumb. The sense of power was incredible. By serving this man, by giving him love, by showing him more love than he had ever known, he had made him cry, and Arthur buried his face into Francis' chest and cried himself to sleep, but those were happy tears, passionate tears, not tears of sadness, as they had been before.
Enough to make any "Marquis de Sade" turn pale
Enough to make the whores of harbours blush
Enough to make all echo cry for mercy
Enough to make the walls of Jericho tremble
I will love you
Enough to make Hells blaze in your eyes
Enough to make all of the thunder of the gods cuss
Enough to make your breast and all Saints rise
Enough to make our hands beg and beseech
I will love you
I will love you
As we've never loved you before
I will love you
Beyond what your dreams have wished
I will love you, I will love you
I will love you
Like anyone has never dared to love you
I will love you
As I would have dearly wished to be loved
I will love you, I will love you
(Je Vais Te Aimer – Michel Sardou, translation into English)
(I own nothing, not the song, not hetalia, purely fluff fanfic and yes I am a big softie.)
