Life and Style

Chapter Two

AN: This chapter contains some sexual situations, coarse language, and naughty topics. You have been warned.

To say Arthur was going to have a bad week would be putting it mildly.

Monday

Monday rolled around once again, and Arthur was relieved to awaken from his slumber not agitated by his alarm and having slept soundly throughout the entire night.

He hummed to himself while he got up, made his bed, showered, and while leaning over his vanity shaving. He continued to hum as he dressed (his favorite olive drab green tweed suit, plaid), tied his tie (cherry red), combed his hair (attempted), and brushed his teeth. He hummed as he jogged down the stairs, sailed in to his kitchen, flicked on his kettle for tea and retrieved some bread for toast.

He stopped humming when he pressed down the button of the toaster and his lights dimmed, the toaster coughed, and flames erupted from the slots. Arthur stood there for a moment, watching the little flames sprouting from his toaster in utter shock. He sprang in to action the moment his fire alarm started blaring, unplugging the small appliance and throwing open his patio door to let the smoke out.

"Bloody perfect!" he swore, fanning the air with a tea towel.

He didn't bother trying to find time to read the newspaper in the quiet of his kitchen; instead, he tried to find something to make for breakfast. Turning up empty-handed, and vowing to go buy groceries at some point soon, he stuffed buttered bread in to his mouth and ran for his car.

When he arrived to the office, on time, Francis seemed to be in a sour mood. Arthur was relieved that at least his work day was going to turn out alright.

"Good morning, Arthur," Francis sighed softly, not even bothering to look up from his computer as Arthur slid in to his chair and booted up his computer. "I hate Mondays, don't you?"

"I think Mondays are bloody brilliant," Arthur tried to sound cheery, even if it was just to disagree with the Frenchman. Francis didn't respond and sighed heavily again. Arthur was quite happy to ignore him and start work.

There was a sudden rap at the door followed by, "Arthur, there you are," Arthur spun around in his chair and looked up at his editor who was poking his head around the door frame. "Bondevik just told me his short story will not be ready in time for printing. Do you have something up your sleeve you could contribute?"

"Ah, yes sir, I could whip something up."

"Thank you. Will you have it on my desk by Friday?" Arthur knew better than to assume that was anything but an order. He nodded his head and smiled. "Hello, Francis. How's the article coming?"

"Oh, très bien, Roderich. You are so kind to ask me." Francis' voice was dripping in sarcasm, Roderich scowled, but said nothing more. He nodded to each of them before disappearing from view. Francis started muttering under his breath in French.

The rest of the day breezed by, Arthur thoroughly enjoying Francis' discomfort as he struggled with his article. On his way home he stopped in to a grocery store to buy some eggs for the next morning's breakfast, cream for his tea, and another loaf of bread. For dinner, he ordered Chinese and in the evening curled up in bed with a good book until he fell asleep.

.

Tuesday

Arthur woke with a kink in his neck, a splitting headache, and still dressed in his suit from the previous day.

When his shower did not make him feel better in the slightest, he told himself a nice morning cuppa would do the trick. He was most disheartened to discover the cream he had bought the previous afternoon smelled of curdled milk and was indeed past its expiry. He resigned himself to stopping at a coffee shop on his way to work, furious that he had not looked closer at the expiry on the cream before he bought it. He normally always checked the dates. Of course, the one time he doesn't...

Once at the office, he sank in to his chair (happily, Francis was scowling at his computer screen and chewing on a thumbnail) and brought his to-go cup to his lips expecting the smooth flavour of creamed earl gray tea and was met with the bitter shock of black coffee.

"Bloody hell!" he spat, wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand. Francis finally looked up at him from over his monitors.

"Good morning, mon amour, you seem well?" He sighed, bags heavy under his eyes.

"I'm in no mood for your damn French, frog," Arthur spat, slamming his cup on his desk. "They got my bloody order wrong."

"What did they give you?"

"Coffee."

"Oh!" Francis' eyes lit up, "may I have it if you won't drink it, sourcils?"

"Fine."

Francis was suddenly upon him, going out of his way so he could lean over Arthur's shoulder, reaching for the coffee cup. His hair brushed across Arthur's cheek and he felt his face heat up. His hair smelled sweet, like strawberries and cream, and Arthur surprised himself by his intense desire to bury his nose in it, breathe it in, and forget about his crappy morning.

"Merci beaucoup, Arthur," Francis purred into his ear, collecting the cup and sauntering back to his own desk.

By the end of the day, his headache had still not subsided, which only further soured his mood. He was dragging his feet to his car once 5 pm rolled around, he reached into his pocket and-

Looking through the window, he could see his keys still sitting in the ignition. He glowered at them, face pressed up against the glass.

"This day couldn't get fucking worse."

"You alright there, Arthur?" Arthur rolled his eyes heavenward. Francis. He didn't bother hiding his quandary, and instead growled out that he had locked his keys in the car. "Do you have a spare set at home?"

"Do I... what? Oh, yes, I suppose I do."

"Wonderful! I will drive you home!" Francis sounded much too cheery, "then I will bring you back here. Easy peasy!" Arthur did not want Francis to drive him home, to learn where exactly he lived, and to spend any amount of time with Francis in an enclosed space... but, without any other options, Arthur agreed. The whole ride to his house he spoke only to give directions and spent the rest of the time glaring out the window. Francis' car smelled like him.

"Is this your house? C'est beau! What a charming front garden!"

"Stay here, frog," Arthur bit out. He was too tired for this. "I'll be right back," he hauled himself from Francis' car, shuffled up his drive, and retrieved the spare key from under a flower pot after making sure no unseemly people were lurking in the neighborhood, watching. Once inside, he went about locating his spare car key. When he found it, he was startled to discover Francis standing in his front entry. "What are you doing? I thought I told you to stay in the car?"

"Your house is too cute, mon chouchou, I couldn't help myself!" He was smiling brightly, his eyes annoyingly shiny. Arthur scowled. "I can't picture you living somewhere so quaint."

"It was my mothers." He shooed Francis from the house, almost shoving him out the front door, before turning to lock it again. Once in the car, he chose to ignore Francis' wide grin. They drove back to the office is odd silence before Francis asked, "who keeps the garden?"

"I do."

"Vraiment? Arthur!" Francis laughed, "you are full of surprises!" He was quiet for the remainder of the trip, except to bid Arthur a "bonne nuit," with a wave and more smiles once the Englishman was safely deposited next to his own vehicle, the door unlocked.

Arthur crawled in to bed almost immediately once he arrived home.

.

Wednesday

He had no idea that getting undressed could be so sexy. The painfully slow movement of long fingers unbuttoning his suit jacket and sliding it from his shoulders. The feeling of his tie being gently tugged on then slipping free from his neck. Cool, teasing fingers trailing down his skin in the wake of the buttons of his dress shirt coming undone. The hot mouth on his collarbone, slowly kissing him as skilled hands unclasped his belt. He tangled his hands in long blonde hair as kisses were trailed down his abdomen, his pants falling around his ankles. Those hands gripped at his hips, fingers biting in to his flesh as that mouth, that tongue—

"Oh god, Francis!"

Arthur woke with a jolt, his whole body covered in an uncomfortable sweat, his breathing ragged and his heart racing. He lay still for a moment, catching his breath. It was a full minute before he realized that he was uncomfortably wet and sticky where he ought not to be, his cheeks burned in embarrassment, even though no one was around to notice. He had been a teenager the last time something like that had happened to him. He forced himself to get up and squashed the desire to hide his dirty bedclothes under his bed, instead he tossed them in his laundry hamper. Because he was an adult and knew how to behave accordingly. He stood nude in the middle of his darkened bedroom for a moment, considering what to do next. He glanced at the clock on his bedside table, 5:03am. His alarm would be going off in an hour, it hardly seemed worth it to go back to bed now. He didn't want to risk having another dream featuring Francis kneeling between his legs... He quickly decided to have a cold shower when he felt his blood rushing south.

After an extra long, bone-chilling shower, Arthur made it to the office with plenty of time to spare. He allowed himself a small smile of victory when he arrived to the shared office first – that rarely happened. He was determined to have a good day.

When Francis finally did arrive to work, much to Arthur's disappointment, he sashayed into the office, a lazy smile on his lips.

"Bonjour, mon ami!" he cried happily, twirling into his chair. "What a beautiful day, non?"

"You're awfully chipper this morning," Arthur did his best to forget about the dream that had awoken him early that morning. He did not need those kinds of images floating around in his head while he was supposed to be focused on his work.

"Oui! I had a spectacular evening last night. And a spectacular early morning," Francis winked, Arthur blushed. Francis leaned on his desk, chin in his hands, his eyes sparkling at Arthur. Arthur tried to ignore him and not notice his handsome features. He always seemed to glow when he had a good lay. This deeply irritated Arthur – even more so this morning. So far, this week was not turning out all that well.

"Perhaps you will finally put aside your promiscuous nature and settle down?"

Francis scoffed and waved his hand in the air, leaning back in his chair. "Oh, non, non, Arthur. She was lovely, the sex was enjoyable, but she could not," he vaguely gestured to all of his person, "even hope to tie this down. It will take a different kind of person to do that." He winked again, and Arthur caught himself staring open-mouthed. He gave himself a mental shake and focused on his computer screen. Unsure of how to turn the conversation around and deliver a satisfying insult, he stayed his tongue.

"Passion is nice," Francis continued and Arthur could feel the Frenchman staring at him, "but I long for something more than that. Even I want to find real amour. Write about that in your silly fiction piece." Ah, Arthur had nearly forgotten he needed to write something for the short-fiction section of the magazine. Dammit.

.

Thursday

Thursday morning began even worse off than the other days in the week. Arthur was quite put-out when he went to start his car and nothing happened. He sat, dumbfounded, behind the wheel for a few minutes, unable to quite grasp the situation. He let loose several colourful swear words before calling for a cab. He did not have the time, nor the energy, to deal with a broken down car right now. He could arrange for it to be towed to a shop later.

He was late to work, only narrowly avoiding a scolding from his editor, and when he entered the office Francis was sitting in Arthur's chair.

"Arthur!" Francis cried happily, rushing to his feet, "I have been waiting ages for you to finally turn up!"

"Stop being so dramatic, I'm only a half-hour late." Francis pouted. "Sit at your own damn desk, baguette."

"Why have you been late so often, Arthur?" His voice was so innocent Arthur froze in his descent to sitting in his chair. Why was he late so often? He couldn't very well say aloud that it was because dreams of Francis were keeping him up at night, so he wasn't sleeping well. He wasn't sure how exactly how it was Francis' fault the rest of his morning routine failed spectacularly over and over again, throwing him off his delicate balance; it was Francis' fault, though. He just couldn't explain it, yet.

He chanced a look in Francis' direction as he slowly finished lowering himself in to his chair. Francis was leaning across their desk, chin in his hand, the other twirling a piece of hair between his fingers. Arthur felt his face heat up like an egg in a frying pan as he recollected his dream, his own fingers knotting in that hair as Francis—he cleared his throat.

"I... don't... it's just been a rough week."

Francis smiled knowingly, which made Arthur feel uncomfortable, it was like he knew. They stared at each other for a moment and were interrupted from their own silent reveries by a knock at the door.

"Ciao, gentlemen!" Feliciano, a mail-room employee, swirled into the room with as much flamboyance as Francis on a good day, "company-wide memo for you this morning! There's a mandatory writers meeting in the tenth floor board room at 12:30 this afternoon!" He was so cheerful to deliver bad news, Arthur wondered if he understood it was bad news at all. Arthur liked Feliciano. He was a burst of colour in an otherwise black-and-white day (other than Francis, of course). He was not always the most swift of characters, but he made up for that in spades with genuine contagious cheer that even brought a smile to Arthur's lips when in a sour mood. He had a narrow build and willowy limbs, hands often clasped tight in delight in front of his face. He had a mop of auburn hair, a single curl escaping the rest and protruding out the side of his head, and dazzling hazel eyes. All of this paired with his light laughter and Arthur could not help himself but to think the young man quite cute.

"Thank you, Feli," Arthur said warmly, accepting additional mail that the Italian held out for him. With a bow and a flourish, he sashayed from the room and on to the next.

Arthur did his best to try and write something for the fiction article he needed to complete by Friday, but he was at a loss and simply stared at the cursor blinking on his screen until he felt it was an appropriate time to go for lunch. He needed some normal in his week. He needed a friendly lunch with Kiku.

After lunch, Arthur found his way to the tenth floor for the meeting. The boardroom was already mostly full with milling employees when he got there, Roderich sitting at the head of the long table, flipping through whatever notes he intended on going over once the rest of the writing the staff arrived. Arthur made himself a cup of tea at the refreshment bar on the far end of the room before finding himself an empty chair, coincidentally across the table from Francis.

"Women's bodies are so lovely." Francis was saying to his friend Antonio, a freelance writer who mostly wrote recipes or restaurant reviews. Arthur tried not to eavesdrop as he sipped his tea and looked over the meeting's agenda provided in front of all the seats around the table. "They are soothing, soft, warm..." Arthur could hear the wistful smile he knew full well was likely playing on his lips.

"And men?" he heard Antonio ask.

"Ah," Arthur glanced up over the rim of his mug in time to see Francis smirk, twirling his long blonde hair in his fingers. "let's just say, I have not met a woman who could give a blowjob better than a man."

Arthur's tea was suddenly spraying across the table.

.

"That was an exciting meeting, non?" Arthur did not appreciate the sparkle in Francis' eyes as he leaned across their shared desk, elbows on the table, hands outstretched with splayed fingers, like he was reaching out to Arthur.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"To me, it seemed you very nearly choked on your tea, mon cher." He was making a show of inspecting the nails on one of his hands, now.

"I did not choke."

"Oho? Perhaps then it was in response to mine and Antonio's private conversation?" How he was able to make his face look so innocent was beyond Arthur. He felt the colour rise in his cheeks, and he clenched his fists as he slumped into his chair and tried to look busy.

"Perhaps you should not discuss your frivolous promiscuity in such a public place, where innocent ears can accidentally overhear."

"Désolé! I did not know you were so sensitive." Arthur stayed silent in response, not willing to be baited. He tried to focus on his writing, but could feel the Frenchman's blue eyes staring at him from over his monitor. He flicked his eyes up under furrowed brows to meet Francis' smiling ones. "Have you never had a man before, Arthur?" how could he look and sound so damned innocent when asking a question like that?

If Arthur didn't choke earlier that afternoon, he certainly was now. He spluttered, quite certain his face was turning several shades of red and purple.

"Of course not!" he practically shouted between violent coughs.

"Arthur!" Francis placed a hand on his chest in what he assumed was mock-shock, "I will be your first, if you like?" He smiled so sweetly at Arthur, his cheeks a very light shade of pink, twirling that damn hair in those damn fingers.

"Y-You're-" Arthur could not seem to think of anything to respond with, his face a furious shade of red, hands shaking, heart pounding in his chest. "You're a-a bloody wanker!" Francis laughed softly, ducking his head behind his own computer and out of Arthur's sight. "Keep your mouth shut, frog. I'm trying to work!"

Finally finding inspiration for his short fiction piece, he wrote a very angry story about a couple with severe sexual tension and no hope of release.

.

Friday

Arthur's mood was positively volcanic by the time he got home late in the evening.

He had never seen Francis mad before, but he was (unhappily) on the receiving end of an enraged Frenchman earlier that afternoon. The two butt heads all day, but the heat in the office from the air conditioner being broken had worn away at their nerves, so the fairly tame bickering dissolved into a heated screaming match. Arthur couldn't even remember how the argument started, or what exactly they were fighting about in the end.

Francis' face was flushed, and not from his usual charming flirtations or simply how damn hot their small office had become with the afternoon sun beating in through the windows. His eyes flashed with an emotion Arthur had never seen in him.

"Take that back, you crétin." Francis hissed.

"I most certainly will not."

The two were nearly at physical blows before someone came in and separated them – Feliciano, perhaps? Arthur couldn't recall. Francis stormed off, taking the remainder of the afternoon off while Arthur angrily typed at his keyboard, trying to get some work done.

Every minute that Arthur sat dutifully at his desk and Francis' chair remained empty sank Arthur's mood ever deeper. The more time spent with his thoughts, the more time he had to consider the argument they had just had, and how, perhaps, he should have not said some of the things he had.

His insides warring between seething anger and savage guilt.

He wanted nothing more than to open the bottle of scotch he had in his study at home and drink himself in to a blissful coma.

He was stomping up the drive from his taxi, angry that he still had to call a tow truck for his car, when he finally looked up and noticed the three bodies standing on his stoop.

"Lizzy?" He froze mid-stride when he recognized his sister. His anger melted away for only a moment before bubbling up again.

"Hey, Artie." She sounded sheepish. He hated it when she sounded sheepish... that usually meant...

"Hi, Uncle Art!" Arthur's eyes flickered down to the two small boys hiding behind their mother's legs. Arthur said nothing to them and simply blinked.

"Lizzy..." He hadn't seen his nephews since they were born. Elizabeth and Arthur had a fairly tumultuous relationship as children, neither never really growing to appreciate each other as adults, they had lead separate lives. So what they were doing here was beyond him, and were those suitcases?! "Was I expecting you?" he finally started walking to his door, ignoring the two pairs of eyes staring widely up at him.

"Ah, no..." Lizzy cleared her throat. "Listen, Artie, I can't stay long. I've already been waiting here for you a while."

"Aha?" He slipped past his sister and unlocked his door. He hoped to get inside and shut the door before anyone could follow him in. A small hand grabbed hold of his pants before he could quite make it inside.

"Arthur," Lizzy's voice was pleading, and Arthur finally looked up at her. "I'm going to miss my plane." He wasn't sure what he was supposed to do with that information. "I got a real sweet opportunity across the pond, Artie." Arthur blinked, not willing to look down at which of his nephews were pulling on his pants for attention. For some reason her story sounded familiar... "I can't take the boys with me just yet-"

"No." Arthur pulled his leg free and started to shuffle into the house.

"Artie, please."

"Where is their father?"

"Dear brother," she laughed nervously, "they have all of their things here. They are good boys, Artie." She bent down and kissed their foreheads, Arthur still refusing to look directly at either of them.

"Why does it feel like you're not hearing me when I say, 'no'?"

"Be good for your uncle now, boys. Mommy loves you. I'll write you!" Lizzy gathered both her sons for a brief, tight hug before standing and leaning over them to quickly place a light kiss on Arthur's cheek. "Thank you Artie, I'll call with my information when my plane lands and I find my hotel," and before Arthur could protest further his sister turned on her heel and marched down his drive and into a waiting taxi – how had he missed the second cab when he pulled up to his house?

"Lizzie!" He called after his sister, "Wait." He jogged past his nephews and met his sister as she was ducking into the cab. He leaned on the roof and peered around the door before she could close it. "Lizzie, was that you that wrote to me looking for advice?" She had one hand on the door handle, her face turned to face him, half-smiling and silent. "EK. Elizabeth Kirkland." He shook his head, flabbergasted. He pushed away from the car and Lizzie shut it all the way. The cab pulled away from the curb and Lizzie waved enthusiastically from the rear window. She blew a kiss.

Arthur helplessly watched his sister get whisked away, not quite believing his luck.

"U-uncle Arthur?" A small voice said from somewhere near his knees.

Finally, Arthur looked down.

Two pairs of wide, blue eyes stared up at him, shocking blonde mops of hair on both their heads. He couldn't tell them apart let alone recall their names. One of them was putting on a brave face, but the other's bottom lip was quivering, eyes very quickly brimming with tears, clutching a large stuffed bear close to his chest. Arthur heaved a great sigh and said, "alright, then. Better come on inside." He slowly made his way back up the drive and pushed open his front door before reaching for their two small suitcases and hauling them indoors. "And remind me, what are your names again?"

"I'm Alfred and that's Matthew! But you can call me Alfie and him Mattie."

"Right."