Life and Style

Chapter Nine

Arthur was losing himself in Francis.

He had pulled Francis to his feet, and Francis pushed Arthur up against the kitchen counter where it was currently digging into his back. Francis' mouth was like velvet, his tongue silken, his taste intoxicating. His hands were roaming deliciously and Arthur was mildly embarrassed somewhere in the back of his mind at the drawn-out sigh that escaped him when Francis moved his mouth to attack his neck. His teeth grazed at the delicate skin under his ear, his tongue darting out, his lips enclosing around his earlobe. Dear God, who knew being kissed around the ears would feel so divine?

He clung to Francis like he was his lifeline, his fists clutching at his shirt, pulling him closer. They weren't close enough, he needed to feel that Francis' heart was pounding just as erratically as his own, he needed to know if Francis was also feeling like his skin was electrically charged. Was he experiencing this, or was it just Arthur? Could he feel how hot Arthur suddenly felt, like the blood in his veins had turned to lava? He was burning up from the inside out and it felt wonderful. The heat was coiling in his core like a snake ready to strike, and all he could do was hang on to Francis and wait for it to pass. His ears were ringing.

He was forgetting where he was. What was Francis doing with those lips of his? The world was sliding away and ceasing to matter at all. He didn't care that it was morning and his nephews were just in the other room, it didn't matter that Francis likely had to get to work; all he desired in this world was to tilt his head to the side and give Francis more of his skin to devour. There were far too many clothes on between them. He needed Francis' mouth everywhere.

When that thought processed in his sluggish, lust-hazed mind, he planted the heels of his hands firmly on Francis' chest and shoved him away as hard as he could.

"What the hell are we doing, frog?" Arthur barked suddenly. He could feel the blood rushing into his cheeks, his limbs felt like they were humming and everywhere Francis' lips had been tingled.

"I would have thought that was obvious," Francis quirked a brow while he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He was smirking and this made anger bubble up in Arthur's gut. How dare he smirk and play this off like a game. His heart was pounding in his chest.

"I can't be kissing you," oh but God, he wanted to. He wanted to pull him back and press their lips together again and never let him go until he'd had his fill.

"Why not?"

"Why not?" Arthur spluttered, trying to compose himself in case either of his nephews happened to come into the kitchen. He ran his hands through his hair and smoothed his housecoat, wrapping it tighter around him. "Because my very young nephews are in the next room and-and- because, quite frankly, it's you." Hurt flashed across Francis' face for a moment before settling into a scowl.

"I see," he said.

"Francis," Arthur sighed, "that's not what I meant. I mean, it is, but not... however you're taking it. I just... you are...?" he wasn't sure exactly what to say. Dammit. He liked Francis, he could no longer deny it. He had been having enough dreams about him to signal that he was at least attracted to the man, but he was also coming to realize that he loved his mind and his confidence. But Francis was Francis. He had spent months listening to his romantic exploits at work and he didn't want to simply become another notch on the bedpost. Was Francis even capable of having a meaningful relationship? Arthur didn't want to reduce the man to a few traits, but he hardly knew him outside of work.

And yet... Arthur thought of him as kind and thoughtful. He was an excellent cook and good with children. He was tidy – at least at Arthur's house he was. He smelled good and he murmured the most adorable things in his sleep. He was warm and fit nicely inside Arthur's arms.

"I need to write." Arthur felt a wave of exhaustion roll over him and he rubbed a hand down his face, sighing heavily.

"Arthur," Francis took a step forward, reaching his hand out to brush against Arthur's waist; it was the barest of contact, but Arthur still felt a jolt of electricity shoot through him at the sensation of Francis' fingers anywhere near him. "Arthur, I..." his voice was pleading and annoyingly genuine, "I like you." It sounded like there would have been more to that sentence, but Arthur held up a hand to stop him, refusing to meet his gaze. He would fall into that blue-eyed trap and he wouldn't be able to stop himself from spilling out his heart. He would be caught, forced to listen to whatever Francis had to say, and then what? Was there a happy ending anywhere near this situation?

"You should get to work," he said at last, dropping his gaze to the floor. He was feeling entirely too vulnerable at the moment, fully aware that he would not be able to stop himself from kissing Francis passionately again if any other words of affection were uttered in the too-silent kitchen. Thankfully, Francis seemed to sense the unease and turned to leave without another word.

As soon as Francis was safely out of his house, he shuffled to his study.

"Boys, Uncle Art is feeling very tired today, please try and play quietly." He shut himself in his study and sat at his long-neglected laptop.

The blank page would have intimidated him had it been only a few months prior to this exact moment. Now, the teasing, blinking cursor soothed him, beckoning him to release his thoughts like telling secrets to an old friend. He sighed happily and stared at the expanse of white before he let his fingers dance across the keyboard, pouring out his thoughts and staining the white with his words.

He had no direction for his writing, only desiring to get it out, to clear his head. There was far too much thinking going on and not enough sorting. Things were messy, he needed to dust off the cobwebs and see his mind laid out before him so he could pick through it and put it back into proper order. This whole process used to be part of his daily routine, the routine that was quickly abandoned once his nephews came to stay with him. There was so much stuffed into his brain he could hardly type fast enough once the dam was broken.

He did not stop typing until he realized the words on the pages were no longer making sense, the screen was swimming and a sweat had broken out across his brow. He sat back in his chair and stretched his arms over his head, his shoulders cracking and releasing the tension he hadn't realized had built up.

There was a soft knock at his study door, the door cracked open, a pair of bright blue eyes peeked in.

"Uncle Art?"

"It's alright Alfred, what's troubling you?" the door opened further and Alfred stood there, fiddling with the hem of his shirt. "Is Matthew alright?"

"Yes, he is fine, but, um, there is someone at the door for you," Arthur hadn't even heard the door ring. He nodded and rose to his feet, following his nephew to the entryway.

There in the doorway was a man holding a vase of white lilies, a clipboard outstretched with a pen attached to a string dangling from it.

"Order for a Mr. Arthur Kirkland," the man at the door said, smiling. Arthur signed for the flowers and was left standing, bewildered, as the delivery van drove away.

"Who are they from?" Matthew called from the living room, his eyes peeking up over the back of the sofa, the credits of Mary Poppins rolling up the TV screen.

There was no card attached, but Arthur could hazard a guess. An hour later, a very large, ostentatious bouquet of red roses arrived for him, this time a card simply stating, "I like you," written in a flourish. Arthur huffed and placed them on the table next to the lilies.

"These are the flowers I said I liked on Sunday," Alfred told Arthur helpfully while he made the boys peanut butter and honey sandwiches for lunch ("I want banana slices in mine!" Matthew requested, desiring to eat something solid for the first time days).

And so they were, the roses and the lilies both the favourites each of the boys had suggested when Francis asked. What had Arthur said were his? He never really considered having a favourite flower. He enjoyed gardens, though he didn't think he could pin down one variety that he liked best; he had given some-sort of answer, he just couldn't recall.

He was feeling exhausted by late afternoon, the sweat on his brow never quite leaving, despite the day feeling rather cool. He had a bit of a tickle in the back of his throat, which he wrote off as a symptom from yelling at the boys to turn the volume of the TV down while he wrote in his office.

He got the answer to his own flower question when a knock at the door revealed a delivery man, arms laden with a very large flat of cacti and succulents of every variety Arthur had ever seen before, and many more he hadn't.

"Bloody hell, frog," Arthur ground out as he signed his name on a delivery slip for the third time that day, "did you buy out the whole florist?"

"They did," the delivery drive said helpfully, "I had to pick some of these up from the supplier directly just to get all the varieties that were requested. It's not an easy time of year to find zygo cactus! Luckily, there was a greenhouse across town growing them already this year, so..." the driver tipped his hat as he bounded down Arthur's drive and back into his truck... to retrieve another flat of cactus and succulents... and then another.

There was no note, but it didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out who they were from.

The moment he was able, Arthur took up his phone and dialed the familiar number to the office, pressing the extension for Francis' desk.

He didn't even wait for Francis to finish his greeting when he picked up the phone, "what the hell am I supposed to do with forty-five cactus plants, you idiot? It's a safety hazard at this point. The living room was completely filled – the boys weren't allowed to play in there until I had moved every last bloody plant to my study," Arthur wiped the sweat building on his brow and steadied himself against the kitchen counter when his world suddenly started to tilt. "Now I don't have anywhere to do my writing because my office is a fucking desert." Arthur could hear Francis chuckling on the other end of the phone.

"You said they were your favourite, mon petit rosbif!" he laughed, "I wanted to do something special for you!"

"They are hardly my favourite, you cheese-loving idiot, they-" he had to steady himself again. "-you put me on the spot and I had to say something."

"Arthur, are you alright?"

"Yes, yes, I'm perfectly fine. I'm just a little tired, I haven't been sleeping very well."
He wasn't sure if he even finished his sentence. One moment he was upright and talking, the next the phone was falling from his hands and hitting the kitchen floor; he didn't even hear it drop, his ears were ringing so loudly. Then, he was laying on the floor staring up at the kitchen ceiling, little Alfred leaning over him with wide, worried, blue eyes.

"He's awake now, papa Francis," Alfred said into the phone, holding it to his ear with shaking hands. Arthur wanted to chide him for calling Francis something so ridiculous, but his ability to speak seemed to be missing entirely; he was helpless except to blink up at his nephew, his vision swimming. He struggled to keep his eyes open and focus on the one-sided conversation his young, impressionable nephew was having with the Frenchman.

"Okay," he heard Alfred say in a wavering tone, "I can do that. And you'll be quick? Okay." Alfred disconnected the call then carefully dialed another number. "Hello, my name is Alfred Jones and Uncle Art fell in the kitchen and he's not talking and papa Francis isn't home yet." He listened for a moment and then recited Arthur's home address. Arthur wondered somewhere in the back of his mind if Alfred was calling for an ambulance, which was ridiculous. He was just a little tired, he just needed to close his eyes for a moment and get some sleep...

Arthur was not sure how much time had passed when he was suddenly aware of a conversation going on around him. He kept his eyes closed while he felt himself rise to wakefulness.

"...Your husband collapsed from exhaustion... make sure he eats something..."

"I can't believe I didn't notice he hadn't been eating. I guess I've just been so busy with work." Arthur furrowed his brow; that sounded awfully like Francis.

"It happens. We have him on an IV right now, so he'll be alright. We just need to wait for him to wake up." An unknown voice.

"He's awake!" Alfred. "Papa, he's awake!" There was the distinct sound of shuffling and then he felt the surface he was laying on depress as someone sat beside him; a cool hand was pressed to his forehead.

"Arthur?" That damn Frenchman sang out his name like it belonged on his lips. "Can you hear me?"

"I saw him crinkle his nose!" Alfred cried. He must have climbed onto the bed, it jostled almost violently and Arthur could imagine him getting up to jump up and down.

"Be careful, Alfie," Matthew said quietly from somewhere else in the room, farther away from where Arthur was laying.

"Mr. Kirkland," the unfamiliar voice again, "your nephews and husband are here to take you home." Arthur's eyes snapped open at that.

"Pardon me?" his voice croaked, but he was relieved that it worked at all. A sharp pain in his skull screamed at him the moment his eyes were open, struggling to focus first on the tiled ceiling, then Francis' sheepish face leaning over him, and finally to a doctor in teal scrubs smiling behind a face mask.

"Welcome back, Mr. Kirkland," said the doctor.

"No, go back to the part about the husband." Arthur turned his attention to Francis who was beginning to laugh nervously.

"Mon amour," he said, leaning forward and sliding his hand from Arthur's forehead to cup his cheek, "did you hit your head when you fell?" He chuckled in a charming way, but his eyes definitely looked like they were screaming. 'Play along, play along, play along,' they begged.

"My dear," Arthur ground out, "I guess I'm just always surprised when I realize I get to spend every day of the rest of my life with you. Also, where is my ring?"

"You must have taken it off while cleaning."

"Uncle Art," Matthew appeared at Arthur's side, "I thought you said that papa Francis wasn't your boyfriend?" Francis gasped and scooped little Matthew up into his lap, clapping a hand down over his mouth.

"Matthieu! You are so cute when you are over-tired. Come boys, let's go see if Uncle Lukas is here yet to take you home. Doesn't that sound fun, hmm?"

"Please tell me you have something that will put me back to sleep?" Arthur asked the doctor and tried not to roll his eyes when he looked mildly confused.

.

Francis clutched Matthew close to him and held Alfred's hand tightly as he walked away from Arthur's room towards the hospital's main lobby where he hoped Lukas would be waiting.

Of course it had been a stupid idea to tell the entire hospital that Arthur was his husband and these were their adopted nephews from a troubled sister-in-law. The boys hardly seemed to notice any lies and had kept their mouths shut. This was all just so Francis could be in the room when Arthur woke up and in the know with what happened to him, of course.

He had heard Arthur hit the floor and panicked, rising to his feet at his desk and crying out for Arthur to answer him. Ludwig had looked up from his desk, his expression just as stony as always, but his eyes were concerned when Francis began to panic until little Alfred came onto the line.

"Hello?" his voice was so little and frightened.

"Alfred, is that you? It's Francis! What happened?" Alfred explained that Uncle Art was laying on the ground and very pale, but he was breathing. Francis tried to keep his voice calm as he explained to Alfred to call for an ambulance, promising that he would be there right away. He was already shutting down his computer and gathering his coat before the call disconnected.

"Something happened to Arthur," Francis had told Ludwig as he fled the office, "let Roderich know, it's an emergency!"

"Call when you know what happened!" Ludwig had called after him and Francis raised his hand in acknowledgement as he raced down the hall towards the elevators.

He was very glad no police caught him as he drove to Arthur's house, driving well enough over the speed limit to have been given a ticket for reckless driving and street racing. He had arrived at the same time as the ambulance.

Arthur was awake when the paramedics arrived, but not very coherent. Francis gathered up Alfred and Matthew and packed them into his car as they followed the ambulance back to the hospital.

"What is your relation to the patient?" the nurse asked as soon as Francis exploded into the Emergency Room, running after the bed they were wheeling Arthur in on.

"What?" he had paused only a moment, watching them take Arthur to an examining room, "he's my husband!" Everyone waved him through without a second thought after that, letting him hold Alfred and Matthew close to his side with one arm, the other hand clutching at Arthur's while doctors checked him.

Just exhaustion and dehydration and not enough food.

Francis almost passed out from relief, then anger that Arthur was clearly neglecting himself. The Brit was going to be the death of him.

Lukas was speaking with an information clerk at the front desk when Francis stepped off the elevator, both boys pulling at his hands and asking questions he didn't have the energy to listen or respond to.

"Lukas!"

"Bonnefoy," Lukas nodded to the clerk behind the desk before meeting Francis halfway; he dropped to his knees when he was close, smiling at Alfred and Matthew. Francis transferred the small hands in his own to his co-worker, "Uncle Lukas" and explained Matthew's medications (which he had the forethought to grab before leaving Arthur's house earlier that day, thank goodness). Lukas nodded in understanding and took the boys away, promising a super fun night with him and Matthias while Uncle Art got better.

.

"I don't need you to hover over me like a mother hen, Francis," Arthur grumbled as Francis wheeled him in his chair towards the hospital exit. He had been discharged with the solemn promise that Francis, Arthur's 'husband', would take a few days off work and 'nurture him back to full health'. Arthur was, of course, not pleased at the notion, but the doctor smiled and said it was a wonderful idea and signed his paperwork with a happy flourish.

"Oh oui, you do! We would not be in this situation otherwise. I insist. The boys are with Lukas until at least tomorrow, which ensures you will get proper rest this evening." Arthur grumbled, but did not protest when Francis looped their arms together and hauled the Brit to his feet, slowly shuffling him through the double glass doors and out into the parking lot. The sun had long ago set and they walked in silence towards Francis' car.

When Francis slid into the driver's side Arthur finally spoke again, "thank you for coming," he looked rather sheepish, and in the pale light cast by a light post Francis could make out a faint blush blooming in his cheeks.

"De rien, you are welcome." Francis started the car then turned to Arthur, desiring very much to reach out a hand and press it to Arthur's cheek; he gripped the steering wheel tight in his hands, instead. "I wish you had told me sooner you were feeling unwell."

"I didn't realize-"

"Just don't scare me like that again, oui? And poor Alfred who found you. You, dieu Arthur, you need to think about yourself, too." He began to manoeuvre the car out of the lot in order to save himself from grabbing Arthur by the shoulders and shaking him violently. Didn't he care that Francis' heart at leapt into his throat when he heard Arthur's voice waver on the phone? Didn't he realize that his blood ran cold when his voice suddenly disappeared and was followed by the clatter of the phone hitting the floor and then the dull thud as Arthur followed it? Did he really not have a clue how scared Francis was as he called Arthur's name into the receiver, hoping he would answer him, and the fear that ran through him when it was Alfred who finally responded, quietly telling him that Arthur was unconscious? He swallowed back the apple-sized lump that was beginning to form in his throat as he drove in the dark, his headlights sweeping the streets as he turned them towards Arthur's house.

Arthur's hands were balled into tight fists in his lap when Francis finally pulled into the driveway of Arthur's house. The front garden had been neglected as of late, the flowers were beginning to wither. Francis would water them in the morning.

He turned off his car and moved to exit - "What are you doing?" Francis blinked at Arthur.

"Getting out of the car?"

"Why?"

"So I can go into the house?"

"Why are you coming into my house?" Arthur glowered and Francis laughed.

"Mon petit ami, I promised I would be a good 'husband' and nurse you back to full health. I cannot do this from my own apartment." He waved his hands, shooing Arthur from the car. "No, aller! Let's get you inside! I will draw you a bath, I will make you some soup, then you will go to bed."

"You're being ridiculous." Arthur slid from the car.

"Aha, but I am being ridiculous for you, so it makes it all okay." Francis winked and Arthur blushed behind his angry expression.

They entered the house arm-in-arm.

AN: WOW THIS TOOK SO LONG TO WRITE AND POST I AM SO SORRY.

Thanks Boffinness for giving me the kick in the butt I needed to get motivated, and giving it a read-through prior to posting!