LIFE AND STYLE

CHAPTER 6

Arthur fully intended to give Francis a piece of his mind, he just wasn't sure about when. He half expected Francis to turn up one evening during the week, but he never did, much to Arthur's great annoyance. He wasn't sure why he felt so disappointed or why his gut twisted into an angry knot when Matthew innocently inquired where his 'boyfriend' was. He tried to dodge the question, then lay in bed unable to sleep, wondering to himself why he didn't simply deny it to his nephew. "Francis is not my boyfriend," he'd whisper aloud to himself. See? It wasn't so hard. He just couldn't do it to the young, wide-eyed face of his youngest nephew.

Lukas also did not come around as often now that Matthias was home, but he did occasionally telephone in order to check up on how Arthur was handling the boys.

He hardly knew how to answer. He constantly felt like he was drowning, and his sister was not being much help. All of her e-mails in response to asking when she was coming home were only answered with a brief, "not yet," or he was simply met with silence. He was getting increasingly frustrated, more and more suspicions that she wasn't coming back at all. Her sons asked about her every evening at the dinner table, Alfred almost always insisting they clasp hands and pray before their meals, ending each prayer with the wish that his mother would come home soon. It broke Arthur's heart when they asked him when she would return and he had no answer for them.

His car had been blessedly repaired by Matthias and the silent Berwald – free of charge, which was a cost that Arthur very much appreciated. This meant that Arthur really had no excuse not to go visit Francis at work. If Francis wasn't going to show up, then he was going to have to go to him. He waited an entire week before he stormed the office in order to have words with Francis. 'Mon petite ami', indeed.

It was strange being back in the office even after only a couple weeks away. Even though everything was exactly as it was when he left, it felt so different. He had spent so many years stomping down the hall to his office, arms laden with research material, eager to sit at his computer and write. He recalled how, just before he took time off, his gut would twist in to a knot as he got closer to the open door, knowing his office mate would be there. Kiku had been a fantastic person to share an office with, and he never felt uneasy when they worked together. Francis, however, had an uncanny ability to make him feel immediately on edge by doing even nothing. Arthur was loathe to admit that it was Francis who made working at Edelstein Publishing so entertaining.

When he rounded the corner to his old office and poked his head in to the gloom, he had to grip the door frame to steady himself.

There never was a powerful moment in Arthur's life when he knew for sure that he was gay.

He was always able to appreciate a good looking woman when he saw one, the same for men. He never gave much thought about what had made him wake in the middle of the night, skin damp with a lust-filled sweat. He'd sooner forget having woken in such a state at all than dwell on the heated images in his foggy mind.

He had never met a woman he liked enough to pursue an intimate relationship with, but this he felt was normal. His work was his love life. For as long as Arthur could remember, he used every ounce of thought, action, and quiet moments to perfect his craft: writing. He toiled at it. Writing was how he expressed his emotions. He would turn to his pen and notepad when anything happened to him, good, bad, or ugly. The sound of a pen scratching words to paper was always his companion. His written words could not abandon him, say mean things, or break his heart. They could comfort him when he was sad or lonely, and make him laugh when he was happy.

Words on pages had always been enough…

The large window at the far end of the room had the blinds drawn shut, casting the small office in to near total darkness. The only light came from two small spotlight lamps on each of the desks facing each other and the two computer screens that sat back to back.

Ludwig sat with his back to the door, at Arthur's old desk, hunched over and writing furiously in a small black notebook. From the door Arthur could see Francis, elbow on his desk and chin in the palm of his hand. His bottom lip was caught between his teeth, deep in concentration. His hair was loose, mussed from when he must have combed his fingers through it in frustration. He always combed his fingers through his long, perfect hair when agitated. He was wearing glasses. The frames had slid down his nose and Francis bumped them back in to place with his free hand before it returned to his computer mouse. The computer screen was reflected in the lenses and Arthur could only just make out his blue eyes skimming over whatever he was reading.

Looking so studious, Arthur could not help but feel an incredible sense of intense arousal.

'Oh shit,' he thought, mouth hanging open, 'I'm so gay.'

Right after his brain processed the thought he just had, he was immediately annoyed. Of all the bloody morons in the world it had to be Francis that spurred on such a train of thought.

'It's the glasses,' he told himself firmly. He had a thing for Frenchmen in glasses. No. He had a thing for Frenchmen. Glasses. He meant glasses.

He was about to duck away and make a hasty retreat when Francis happened to look up.

"Arthur," he called, sitting straighter and quickly batting the glasses from his face, they clattered to the desk, the noise almost startling in the silent office. Ludwig stiffened and turned to look at him as well. "What are you doing here?"

What was he doing here? His mouth had gone dry and his reasoning had long left his brain, flushing right out of his reddening ears.

"I-I-" He couldn't believe he was stuttering. He, Arthur Kirkland, stuttering like a preteen trying to talk to his crush. He decided to ignore the fact that the situations were not that dissimilar.

Ludwig suddenly cleared his throat and rose to his feet, towering over Arthur and seeming to fill the tiny office. He gathering his notebook and quietly excused himself, muttering something about how he would give them space to talk. Arthur wanted to reach out and grab him by the sleeve of his shirt, to stop him from abandoning him with Francis and his feelings. He would have voiced it if he could, but his plea was stuck in his dry throat; he stared like a deer caught in the headlights at Ludwig's retreating back and the subsequent shutting of the door behind him.

He was alone with Francis.

"Arthur, is everything all right?" Goddamn him and his ability to sound so calm and collected at a time like this, while Arthur was having a mental crisis. It hardly seemed fair. He looked to the ceiling and desperately searched for answers up there, for help in the situation he had gotten himself into. Please, ceiling, dear God, please remind him of why he was there. Francis was rising to his feet, Arthur dared not look when he heard the shuffle of fabric as he moved closer to him, his hands warm and gentle on Arthur's shoulders. "Do you need to sit down, cher? You do not look so well." The concern in his tone was endearing and it made Arthur mad. He felt the pressure as Francis tried to push him towards Ludwig's – his – emptied office chair. He allowed himself to be pushed until he was almost sitting, then forced against Francis and stood again.

"Did you call me your boyfriend?" His voice returned to him in full force. Francis visibly paled, his hands jerking away from Arthur and he took a step back.

"P-Pardon?" Arthur sneered at Francis' own stammering. Revenge!

"Matthew speaks French," he crossed his arms across his chest and put on his best angry face. It was hard to feel so angry when he was taking such great pleasure in the uncomfortable expressions passing over the Frenchman's face; he looked quite frightened. "He made a comment about you being my boyfriend," he continued, almost unable to keep the cruel glee from his tone, "he said 'mon petite ami' means boyfriend."

"D-did I say that?" he laughed nervously, "perhaps just a slip of the tongue, oui?"

"That's a very odd slip of the tongue, wouldn't you agree?" He took a step towards Francis, smirking darkly.

"I may have meant to say 'mon petite lapin'," he took a step back towards the wall and Arthur happily followed him, "or maybe 'mon petit... rosbif'? Or..." He took another step back, bumping into a cluttered bookshelf. Arthur continued to advance on him. He wasn't quite sure why he did so, he didn't know what he hoped to gain. He was simply enjoying having the upper hand with the suave Frenchman. Francis gave him an inch of discomfort and weakness and Arthur fully intended to snatch up a mile. For once, he was causing the blush to rise in his opponent's cheeks and not the other way around.

"My little roast beef? Really?" He was so close to Francis he could hear his quickened breaths. He uncrossed his arms and placed on hand on the shelf above his head, leaning in to fleer at him. Francis was a few inches taller, he hated to admit, but with him shrinking against the shelf Arthur felt quite like he was several feet taller. He enjoyed the sensation of towering over him. He quirked a brow, waiting for an answer.

"I might have meant to say something else entirely," he squeaked, blinking dazedly up at Arthur, the blood having rushed back into his cheeks in full force. He kept chewing on his bottom lip and Arthur hated the fact that he noticed. "Or..." Arthur leaned in a bit further, pressing for him to continue, daring him to say what was on his mind. "Or I might have meant it." Arthur reeled away.

That was not the response he had been expected.

"W-what?" Francis looked startled for only a split second before he latched on to Arthur's moment of confusion. He reached out, grabbed Arthur by the elbows and spun them around so their roles were reverse, figuratively and physically.

"I may have meant it, or at the very least, desired to mean it."

"Don't be preposterous, frog." The blush in Francis' cheeks had not subsided, but his eyes glinted with new-found courage and he straightened to his full height, no longer cowering at Arthur's smirks and advances.

If Francis was telling the truth... Arthur wasn't sure exactly that would mean. He needed to gain the higher ground again, he couldn't be this close to him without being the one in control. Not when he looked so deliciously devious leaning over him, still chewing on that bottom lip, but eyes flashing with a bold, predatory emotion. Arthur swallowed thickly. Francis kept advancing, smiling in a way that was causing his heart to hammer in his throat and his knees to feel quite like jello; he was thankful he was backed up against the bookshelf, not certain he'd be able to stand with Francis' warm breath rolling across his jaw the way it was. Was Francis going to kiss him?

Was Francis about to kiss him?!

"I didn't know you wore glasses!" he choked out, squeezing his eyes shut, chickening out in a panic.

The warmth radiating from Francis suddenly disappeared and the room was filled with his melodic laughter. Arthur waited a moment before opening his eyes again, watching as the Frenchman retreated back to his desk, elegantly dropping into his chair and leaning back in a comfortable recline.

"Oh, sourcils, do not play with fire if you cannot stand the heat," Francis chuckled.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean, you wanker?" Arthur freely allowed the anger to bubble up in his gut, overtaking the desire that had started to bloom and drowning it out. Francis laughed again.

"You started it," he turned his chair to face Arthur, one arm dangling off the side, the other resting on the armrest, hand twirling some of his hair in his fingers. "You were suddenly so dominant. Now you are back to a frightened little lapin." If there was one thing Arthur hated more than anything, it was being teased, specifically by Francis, especially when it was in such a way that seemed to suggest that Arthur could not regain the upper-hand.

He refused to lose.

He marched up to Francis, who had the decency to look startled, grabbed a handful his bloody, perfect hair and wrenched his head back. Arthur leaned down and smashed their lips together with such sudden force the chair in which Francis was sitting teetered dangerously and he made a noise of surprise into Arthur's mouth, hands instinctively grabbing onto his forearms for support.

Arthur kissed Francis fiercely until his mind caught up with his body and he jumped away, hand at his mouth and eyes wide in panic. Francis looked just as taken-aback, staring at him in wide confusion and shock. What on earth had he just done?

Francis looked as if he was about to say something when there was a knock at the door and it sprung open, Feliciano twirling in.

"Luddy, Francis – oh! Arthur!" He bounced on the balls of his feel, seemingly oblivious to the awkwardness he had just walked into. "I did not know you were back! Where is Ludwig, though? Or are you just visiting?" There was an endless stream of questions and Arthur cleared his throat, waiting for an appropriate moment to interject.

"No, Feli, I'm just visiting," he manged to get in.

"Oh! I see!"

"I just needed to, ah, speak with Francis about something..."

"Oh that's a relief! I would have missed seeing Luddy every day – ah! Not that I like him better than you!" His smile fell for the briefest of moments before he recovered, "do you want your mail or should I just... I'll just leave it here on the desk. Here's yours, Francis," he passed a small bundle of envelopes over to Francis, who wordlessly accepted them, his eyes still not leaving Arthur's face. "Do you... do you know when you'll be coming back to work?" Feli asked, almost like he was scared to do so. Arthur offered him an encouraging smile, thankful for the distraction from only moments earlier. He did not have any desire to be left alone with the consequences of his actions.

"Not yet, I'm afraid, but I'll be sure to let you know as soon as I do." Feliciano brightened at this.

"I hope you come back soon, but I also hope that you are enjoying your time away. Or... when you are away...? I'm sorry, was I interrupting something a moment ago?"

"No," Arthur heard himself say over Francis' "yes," he glanced back at the Frenchman with wide eyes and they stared at each other for a moment before Feli cleared his throat, forcing the attention in the room back to him.

"I better go, then, so I'll see you tomorrow, Francis!"

"Wait, Feli!" Arthur reached and grabbed onto his sleeve, something he should have done to Ludwig before he had escaped. He wasn't going to let history repeat itself, not if he could help it. Feli turned to him, eyes wide and curious, waiting for Arthur's reasoning.

"Sì?"

"Ahm," he grasped at straws, "if you wait a few minutes, I'm sure Ludwig will come back!" Feliciano's face reddened quite severely at the suggestion and he froze, almost frightened.

"Oh," was all he breathed out.

This was not turning out to be a very comfortable afternoon and Arthur suddenly felt quite guilty for dragging poor, innocent Feliciano into his mess.

"I-if you want to, that is," he released his shirt, not daring to look back at Francis; he could feel his eyes drilling holes into the back of his head. Feli seemed physically torn as to how to respond to the situation he now found himself in, and Arthur did his best to look apologetic, he really did, but he was thankful that he was stalling the inevitable conversation to follow as soon as the Italian left. He wanted to mouth, 'don't leave me', but was sure that the words would have gone right over Feli's head.

Awkward silence descended. Feliciano was red in the face and twitching, Arthur was guilt-ridden and nervous, and Francis, well, Arthur did not dare look behind him to see what Francis was doing. He assumed he looked mildly flabbergasted and gorgeous. Or, maybe he was angry... Arthur almost chanced a glance back before catching himself. One thing was for certain, whatever his expression, his lips were undoubtedly swollen from Arthur's fierce kiss.

Heh.

Feliciano cracked under the pressure of the silence first, "Can... can I leave? I really do want to see Ludwig, but I also have to finish delivering the mail before lunch, so..."

"Go, Feli, don't mind Arthur. He's in a strange mood this morning," Francis' voice was smooth and confident. Arthur flinched and ducked his head as Feli dashed from the room, calling a friendly goodbye as he went. "Arthur." Now he sounded firm and commanding.

"Yes, Francis?"

"Look at me."

"No, I really would rather not." He cleared his throat and busied himself with straightening his shirt. What time was it? He should probably relieve Lukas in the Art Department of his hyperactive nephews and take them home.

Francis' hands were suddenly on his shoulders and spinning him around. He stumbled, the hands stayed him before he toppled over. One of them reached for his chin and tilted his head up to look Francis in the eye.

"Why did you kiss me just now?" Goodness he was blunt. And dear God he wanted to kiss him again. He wanted to reach up and tangle his hands in that golden hair and snog Francis breathless, pushing him into the desk behind him and ravage his flesh until he was begging for mercy. He wanted to tear the clothes off his goddamned perfect body and- he stopped his train of thought.

"Because you backed me into a corner and challenged me, frog," he spat instead. "I wasn't about to let you win so easily." Francis blinked several times before releasing him and backing away. He nodded once, twice, then cleared his throat.

"Well, then, you win, Arthur." He turned to back to his desk, collapsed into his chair, and pulled himself back up to his computer. "I apologize for mistakenly calling you 'mon petite ami', I will make sure it doesn't slip out again." Arthur wondered if he should feel victorious, but his heart seemed to slide down into his shoes instead. That was not the happy feeling he would have normally experienced...

"Right, well," he straightened his shirt again, "glad that's sorted."

"Was there something else that you needed, Arthur?" Arthur frowned. Francis never called him by his first name so often, not unless he absolutely had to.

"No, that... that was everything." He furrowed his brow, peering at the Frenchman.

"Alright, have a good afternoon."

Arthur waited a moment to see if Francis would look up or say anything else. He stayed silent, the click of his mouse and periodic tap-taping of his long fingers on the keyboard filling the silence. Arthur sighed heavily, ran a hand through his hair, before withdrawing from the office, leaving the door open behind him as he left.

He hadn't really thought out how he had envisioned the confrontation to go; however, what had just happened was definitely not it.

AN: FINALLY! Thank you all for your continued patience. I had fun writing this chapter - I hope you enjoyed reading it!

Feel free to drop a review! :) I'll love you forever if you do!