Arthur carefully wound his old pocket watch, gently turning the stem until he felt the slight resistance that signified it was set.
"What are you doing, mon cher?" A voice murmured in Arthur's ear, and he whirled around to see Bonnefoy standing much too close.
"Nothing," he said quickly, shoving the watch back into his pocket before Bonnefoy could see it clearly. The pirate noticed him hide it, and a smug expression came across his face. Arthur was sure that look would spell trouble for him.
But all Bonnefoy said was, "D'accord. In that case, swab the deck."
Arthur was about to complain, but he bit back his refusal. Maybe if he was obedient, Bonnefoy would stop asking questions that he didn't want to answer. And either way, it wasn't as if Bonnefoy could continue to bother him when he was doing as the pirate wanted.
"Fine." He said shortly, and stomped off.
Not content with this, Bonnefoy followed Arthur, disbelief written across his face. "Fine? That's it? You're so obedient, mon cher. Whatever happened to that fiery defiance from yesterday?"
"No matter what I want to believe, I'm still your prisoner," Arthur said. "I don't have much of a choice, do I?"
Bonnefoy looked slightly crestfallen, and Arthur had to wonder why. After all, isn't that what he had wanted to hear?
It didn't matter either way. Moments later, Bonnefoy was called away, and Arthur was left blissfully alone.
Not for long.
Arthur had been left in peace for not more than five minutes, when something barreled into him at high speed. Further inspection revealed that it was a who, rather than a what - a man with silver-white hair and deep red eyes.
"What're you gawkin' at?" He snarled. Arthur stared at him blankly, and the stranger swore colourfully before switching to halting French. "Quand la... femme -"
"I'm not French," Arthur interrupted, and the stranger's face cleared in relief.
"And ya couldn't've told me earlier? Ah, I guess it don't matter. When that fuckin' creepy lady gets here you ain't seen the awesome me, savvy?"
Arthur nodded. Before he could ask anything more, the man rushed over to the side of the ship and threw himself off.
He was about to call for help, but then Arthur was struck by the awful realisation that such desperate measures clearly meant whatever was coming for that man was worse than death. He shivered, and hurriedly picked up the mop again to try and take his mind off what was coming.
Seconds later, a petite brunette woman stomped up to Arthur, a heavy saucepan in her hand and and an expression of incredible fury on her face.
"Où est-il?" She demanded.
Arthur swallowed back his fear and managed to speak steadily. "I don't know what you're talking about, ma'am. I haven't seen anyone."
The woman looked at him narrowly. She let out a stream of rapid French (none of which Arthur understood) before raising the saucepan threateningly in a gesture that needed no translation. Then she turned and marched off.
When she was out of sight, Arthur let out a sigh of relief and hurried over to see what had happened to the stranger.
He looked over the side of the ship and was met by a pair of anxious red eyes. The stranger was clinging to the outside of the ship - if he let go, he'd fall into the sea. Arthur wasn't sure whether to be impressed at the skill or concerned at the idiocy this involved. In the end, he simply said, "She's gone," and reached out to help the man up.
The man grinned roguishly and swung himself back up over the side of the ship, landing with a light thump beside Arthur.
"Guess I owe ya one. I'm Gil, master thief and general all-round awesome person." He stuck out his hand and they shook.
"Arthur. Why was that woman trying to kill you?"
"Who, Lizbet? Oh, she's just angry 'cause I was watchin' her changin'. Remind me it ain't worth it. Scary lady, she is." Gil shuddered. "So, whatcha doin' on this ship?"
Arthur scowled. "That bastard Bonnefoy is keeping me here for some reason. How about you?"
Gil grinned. "I'm a stowaway," he announced proudly. "Thought it'd be a good idea to sneak onto a pirate ship, 'cause they got the most to steal. Got careless, got caught. But then that Bonfoy guy says I can stay, 'cause they might need someone like me. Pretty awesome dude, he is. It's a good life, 'cept none of these mugs know English and I don't speak French."
"Yeah, my French is pretty limited too." Arthur agreed. "Would you mind showing me around? I'm pretty much done with this," he gestured to the mop.
"Least I can do, Artie. I been on the Ashron a while so I know her pretty well. Follow me."
"Thanks," Arthur said gratefully, choosing to ignore the nickname.
Gil nodded. "Let's go."
In the end, Gil's supposed-to-be-awesome tour ended rather abruptly, because Gil immediately made a beeline for the galley.
"This, Artie, is Luddy." Gil said, throwing one arm around a clean-shaven, muscular blond, whose light blue eyes were glaring at Gil in a way that clearly stated, 'If you do not get off me this instant, I will end you in the most painful way possible.'
Gil was unfazed by this, and ruffled his hair affectionately. "Luddy's the cook round here, which is why he's got that hardcore apron. And he's my cute lil bro in all but blood. He's German, like me, but I been teaching him English, and he's pretty good now."
"My name is Ludwig," he said stiffly, continuing to glower at Gil. "How do you do."
"Arthur. Very well thanks, and you?"
Gil sneezed explosively. "Can ya get me a drink, Luddy? Formalities are too boring."
Ludwig grunted and turned to Arthur. "Will you want one also?"
"Say 'do ya want one too', Luddy." Gil sighed. "Considering how awesome your teacher is, you really ain't doing so well."
"Thanks Ludwig, I'd like that." Arthur said hastily, interrupting before Ludwig decided to cheerfully beat Gil to death.
Six bottles of rum later, Arthur had more important things to worry about.
"An' then wha' happ'n?" Gil slurred happily.
"And then the unicorn says to me, 'Arthur,' he says, 'You gotta -'"
Arthur was suddenly thwarted in his attempt at conversation by his stool spitefully choosing to tip him over. He slumped on the floor and glared at it. The stool glared back, looking entirely unrepentant. 'It was your own fault,' it seemed to say.
"What are you insinuating?" Arthur said to it coldly, enunciating as best he could. He was quite proud at his success - he had barely even stumbled over the last word, despite the fact that it was rather a long one.
The stool smirked at him, but before it could reply, Gil slid out of his own seat to collapse beside Arthur. "An' then?" He asked.
Arthur giggled. "What on Earth do you mean, 'and then'? You are so silly, Gil. Now, shh. This fine fellow was just trying to tell me something, were you not?" He smiled at the stool encouragingly.
"What are you doing, mon cher?" An amused voice asked.
Arthur looked up, saw Bonnefoy, and pouted. "Bloody Frenchmen."
Bonnefoy hauled Arthur to his feet, and put an arm around his shoulders so that he didn't immediately keel over. "Bloody Frenchmen," Arthur repeated. But he didn't shove Bonnefoy away - it actually felt rather nice.
Gil smiled lazily and stumbled to his feet, saluting sloppily in response to an imagined command. "Aye, cap'n!" He swayed and fell heavily to the side. Luckily, Ludwig caught and steadied him before he damaged anything.
"Excusez-moi, Ludwig. Je pense que Arthur est en état d'ébriété. Je m'occupe de lui, tu peux assiste l'autre ivrogne?"* He gestured towards Gil.
"Oui," Ludwig said reluctantly.
"Stop bloody well speaking in French!" Arthur interrupted.
Francis just laughed. "Merci, Ludwig. Come with me, mon cher."
Too unsteady to argue back, Arthur just nodded and followed Bonnefoy back to his cabin.
Francis looked down at Kirkland and smiled. He really was an amusing drunk - for one thing, there was the way he spoke with exaggerated clarity, enunciating each word precisely, as if to prove he was nothing if not sober. And as they'd staggered back to Francis' cabin, Kirkland had prattled on cheerfully, talking to inanimate objects, imaginary creatures, and occasionally even to Francis himself.
Even when they arrived at Francis' cabin, Kirkland still hadn't put himself on guard. Pouting, Kirkland had insisted that Francis called him "Arthur, because 'mon cher' is poncey and Kirkland is formal." Francis had stifled a laugh and agreed.
At some point, Francis began to wonder exactly how unwary and naïve Arthur really was when inebriated. An idea flashed into his head, and Francis smiled slyly.
"Arthur, come here."
Arthur looked up in surprise, but stumbled towards him obediently, implicit trust in his green eyes.
When Arthur stopped, Francis softly pulled him closer. For a moment, he simply stared at Arthur, gazing at the delicate cheekbones touched with a light blush, at those tangled eyelashes that framed forest green eyes. Francis had never seen Arthur this close, and never with such an expression of trusting abandon. He wanted to savour this for as long as possible.
Then he slowly reached out and began to unfasten the buttons on Arthur's jacket.
Arthur looked puzzled, but didn't try to stop Francis as he finished taking off Arthur's jacket and his slender fingers reached for the top button of Arthur's shirt.
He hesitated.
Considering how drunk Arthur was, he probably wouldn't even remember what they had done together come morning. Francis could either take advantage of that, and do what he had wanted to ever since he'd first seen Arthur - to make him his.
But he knew that this wasn't what Arthur would have wanted. If not for the copious bottles of rum he had drunk, Arthur would be yelling and cursing and fighting Francis off as best he could.
All the more reason to appreciate the fact that he isn't, part of him said snidely.
He looked up at Arthur.
That expression of confusion and overwhelming trust was still present.
Francis felt ashamed. How could he have even thought of violating that trust?
"Bonnefoy?" Arthur asked uncertainly.
Francis tugged him into his arms, resting his head on top of Arthur's, who sighed and nuzzled into Bonnefoy's shoulder.
They stayed still for a while, and eventually Francis heard Arthur's breathing even out. He drew back carefully to see that Arthur was fast asleep.
Smiling fondly, Francis pressed a small kiss to his temple. "Bon nuit, Arthur."
Then he gently picked Arthur up and tucked him into his bed.
*Translations by Lemon Nightmare: 'Excusez-moi, Ludwig. Je pense que Arthur est en état d'ébriété. Je m'occupe de lui, tu peux assiste l'autre ivrogne?' - Excuse me, Ludwig. I think Arthur is drunk (literal: in a state of inebriation). I will take care of him, can you help the other drunkard?