Well, it was certainly nice to be back in a home again, though sadly it was not his own. Arthur prowled through the rooms of the house, restless and disgruntled as he tried to familiarize himself with the building. It wasn't just the horrendous décor of the place that was getting on his nerves, though he was mentally promising a painful death to whoever had been in charge of making this place seem 'lived in' by Arthur. The 'old man' joke that'd been running through work was getting very very old. Had Alfred not been in his current situation, Arthur would have thought he was behind this. Sadly not.

Naturally if Arthur was going to have his background looked at by the Gallery at all, he couldn't be found living inside the liquor store across the street. However, giving his true home address to the establishment didn't seem wise either. Antonio had stepped up to take care of creating a cover for Arthur, being the one most experienced at it. He'd called some of his colleagues, gotten them to cook up a plausible fake identity for Arthur, snag him a home and work with the neighbors to cement a cover story.

This whole application process had thrown them for a bit of a loop, and they'd had to consider suspending the mission or possibly dropping it. They hadn't known how clients were selected for the Second floor when they'd begun this all, and having such a thorough process was dangerous to their efforts. If they discovered that Arthur was an agent it'd be bad enough, but if they used that to trace to Alfred? That could seal the man's fate right there. Serious discussion had been had about bringing in a civilian for this, and Antonio had assured them that he knew trustworthy people outside of the law department.

In the end, for various reasons the argument had fallen against the use of a civilian to sending Arthur in as originally planned. It'd been a close debate, and all of them did acknowledge personal emotions probably had factored into the final decision. However… they were professionals… and Arthur was confident they could do this. Or at least, he told himself he was confident in it, because now that they were committed to this there was nothing to be done. Time would tell if they'd made the right choice.

Taking a seat in an armchair with a repulsively festive floral pattern, Arthur drummed his fingers against the arm lightly. His large eyebrows furrowed into an impressive scowl as he searched for something to do. Yes, there was the television set, but honestly he'd never found anything on to be worth wasting his time on. His typical hobbies were sadly not an option, as he hadn't a chance to go home and bring anything over. He had to operate under the notion that he was being watched. He would leave his 'new home' here and there as a normal person should… but he had to avoid his old routines.

More than anything, he was frustrated because he didn't feel he was being useful at this precise moment. He knew he had to play this waiting game. No matter how anxious a client was, getting medical clearance was not a fast process. If he'd showed up again with it the very next day, he suspected they would have turned him away immediately. So he had to pretend he'd taken the time to set up a doctor's appointment, and then had to sit and wait through days of waiting for the fake test results. Oh yes, he'd had his 'results' ready the day after getting the application, but to keep things cool… he was waiting.

At the very least he could make a call to the rest of the team. They'd secured a line for that, a new cellphone he could call with. His 'home' was bug free, so provided things went well, he could at least find out how the surveillance was going this way. He dialed the number, wondering just who would be picking up.

"Arthur," came a deep steady voice, and he relaxed a bit. Truthfully, as long as it wasn't Vargas, Arthur was alright. "Did you need to speak to Antonio?"

"No, everything for the cover is going alright, though I suppose you could call me Gareth… get me used to hearing the name." According to the new license and credit cards in his wallet, he was apparently 'Gareth Doyle'. It was a satisfactory name, though it'd take a bit of getting used to.

"Ah, right… Gareth." The German cleared his throat, and Arthur took that as a cue to explain why he was calling.

"I'd like a status report… from the lack of contact from all of you I do gather that nothing must have happened, but if you have any observations otherwise I'd be glad to hear it. And also… well… is," he fumbled… suddenly unable to ask about the wellbeing of a certain member of their team. 'Just what is his name? Oh hell…' "…are you all holding up alright?"

"Yes, no significant movement has been seen about Gallery Nine, including no visual confirmation of Jones or," Ludwig's voice seemed to waver just slightly when he continued with his statement, such a painful thing to hear from the typically stoic man. No doubt his worry for his lover was gnawing at him relentlessly. "… of Feliciano. We did note that what seems to be one of the first floor employees did come into the store for cigarettes, so we're being more cautious about being spotted from the store."

Ludwig took in a breath before addressing the end of Arthur's concerns. "Lovino seems ready to kill someone to get to his brother… or as he likes to threaten, go to his 'mafia' connections. Antonio has his hands all but full with him. I… attend to my duties as I should and…" His voice trailed off, as if trying to think if there was anyone else to report on. "Everyone here is fine, sir, yes." The puzzlement in his voice was clear over the phone line. Had Arthur been able to see the man, he would have also seen the disappointed yet accepting expression on Matthew's face right next to Ludwig at being left out.

"Very good then… tomorrow I shall head to the Gallery to turn in my application; no doubt you will all see me. Do keep me informed as I shall keep you all in turn."

"Yes, sir," and with that the call was ended. Arthur let out what almost seemed like a defeated sigh, running a hand over his eyes. This was no time to be getting so nervous, no time at all. He got back up and got back to learning his home. With a sarcastic roll of the eyes, he wondered if he should go outside and do some yard work, get to know the neighbors.

X x x x x x x x x x x x x

He slipped out the door, letting it close softly behind him. No sooner had the soft click of the latch touched the quiet of the hallway, did Francis all but turn to run straight into Toris. There was that awkward moment where the two men shifted quickly while attempting to not collide with too much force, hands reaching out and fumbling in hasty attempts to keep both of them standing up straight. It was with hands on each other's shoulders that the pair finally gained steady footing, tiny bits of laughter shaking off of them. With careful and amazingly chaste movements, Francis helped to smooth out the brunette's clothes.

"Ah Toris, please pardon me," he said smoothly, his voice holding a flirty sort of humor, though mild by his standards.

"It's alright Francis," the other returned amicably. Aside from a few gentle bits of teasing here and there, Francis was always very careful to keep polite and respectful of the other's personal space. It wasn't that Francis didn't find the other man attractive (oh how Francis wouldn't mind seeing more of him… wearing less…), and it wasn't because he found Toris intimidating either (so very far from it!). However, Toris was one of the favorites of one of his bosses, and that particular boss should never be angered. Therefore, Francis made certain to keep a little bubble of chastity around the other, for both their safety.

The two fell into an easy stride together, as apparently they were both headed down the hall in the same direction. The host walked with graceful strides, catlike and ever on the prowl. Toris was much more subdued of course, making quite the contrast between them. Francis was on a slight personal mission at the moment, and he could only hope he wasn't about to be interrupted. The blond cleared his throat softly, casting a concerned glance towards the other from the corner of his eye. "You… you are not coming to fetch… Feliciano are you?"

Toris shook his head, a pained expression covering his face after a quick glance around to make sure the two were alone. "No, he has no clients for the next couple of days…"

"Oh thank god," Francis breathed, and by his side the brunette nodded somberly. Of course this did mean that Toris was collecting someone else for an appointment, but typically that wasn't a cause to worry about. Precautions were taken to ensure the clients weren't dangerous, after all. Unfortunately… sometimes, ever so rarely, a bad apple slipped into the bunch. "I was on my way to see him."

"That's good of you…" The look that Toris cast to Francis was so grateful, so full of thanks, that it almost made the other man blush. Such a kind and open expression… it was lovely. Francis had to focus his mind before he got himself in trouble here.

"Well, big brother must watch after the little ones, no?" He tossed a winning smile towards Toris, fighting to resist the natural bit of flirtation that seemed just under the surface, and the two parted ways as the usher continued on to collect someone else. Francis give a quiet knock to the door he wanted before letting himself in. "Ah, Feliciano," his voice purred out softly. "Are you awake?"

His eyes had to take a moment to adjust once he closed the door behind him, for there was only a low light cast from a small bedside lamp for illumination. There was a shade drawn over it, colorful so that it cast warm enchanting patterns throughout. There was a small movement from the bed in the room, a figure slowly and weakly moving to sit up. Francis quickly made his way to the bedside, trying to halt the figure as he took a seat on the edge. "No no Feliciano, please, do not try to sit up. Rest yourself now… just relax."

"Ve~? Big brother? Francis?" The slow breaths of someone just coming out of slumber slurred the younger man's speech just slightly, though the youth obeyed and continued to relax with his head against the pillow. Soft auburn hair fell in a short mess about his face, a defiant curl resting to the side. His eyes barely seemed to be able to open, and Francis wasn't certain if the other man could see him at all. Reaching out a hand to tenderly caress the cheek of the other, Francis smiled down at the injured youth.

"Yes, I'm here." He let his fingers linger with soft caresses, only reluctantly drawing still to remain on the other's cheek lightly. There was something about a helpless person in a bed that would always be oh so tempting to Francis, especially when they were as absolutely cute as this young Italian was. Oh how he was so very close to using this situation, so very close, but something else seemed to step up and stop him. It wasn't the innocence; innocence was such a turn on, but rather something else. The trust perhaps, and certainly the knowledge of what this young man had been through.

A happy little sigh filtered up to Francis's ears, and it helped to sooth the ache he felt inside looking down at Feliciano. The young man was pale, terribly so. It was out of place on skin that usually held such a natural and mild tan to it. The cheeks had become slightly gaunt, and the horrible lingering remnants of a black eye purpled his complexion. Francis knit his brows sadly, knowing that there were still a few bandages on his body beneath the pajamas he was wearing. The older man had to bite back a surge of anger the more he thought on what had happened to Feliciano four days ago, cursing the fact that aside from coming to give some moral support, there was nothing he could do.

Francis had been a part of the Gallery's second floor for quite some time now, and throughout the span of his 'employment' here he'd seen many hosts come and go. The only problem was, they never left on good circumstances. He'd seen people try to run away… and he'd seen the captive residents of the second floor simply fall apart and give up. To his mind, he could not recall a single one leaving from what he bitterly considered 'old age'. You couldn't be a host forever, now, could you? There came a time when you simply failed to appeal to the clients.

Casting a glance at his own reflection in the mirror on Feliciano's bedside table, Francis studied the man that peered back at him. Oh indeed, he still had his looks, and he was far from what he would consider old (though amusingly and predictably, every year older he got, the higher the age he considered 'old' to be). Wrinkles were not marring his much too handsome features yet! Not a single grey hair had invaded his impeccable silky mane. All the same… Francis knew he wasn't planning to run away… and he certainly had the proper temperament to last here as long as he could. So then, just what would happen to him when he no longer was 'desirable'?

It was the sort of musing that could plague him on a cold lonely night or on days like this when those he considered his precious little brothers had been harmed. Francis was decently respected by the hosts here for taking under his wing those who… well… simply didn't have what it took to survive here. He offered support and guidance to the poor souls who, through misfortunes personal and varied, came to call the Gallery Nine their new home. Perhaps that's how he would be of use in the future… perhaps he would be in charge of tending to the hosts here. Oh what a silly thought.

"Hey… Francis…" Feliciano's voice gently steered him away from his brooding, drawing his blue eyes once more to the slight young man. "I want some pasta…"

Francis chuckled. "Dear me, Feliciano. If you continue to demand pasta, no matter how much you adore it, you shall soon have quite the round little belly! Oh how big brother would cry to see such a round little Feliciano!"

"Ehhh… no way… I can eat as much pasta as I like and not get fat!"

"Haha… I'm sure you can… I'm sure you can. Alas, they keep me from the kitchens for some foolish reasons. Just because I was… friendly… with the cooks does not mean I should not be allowed to prepare for you some delicious dishes!" He gave Feliciano quite the lecherous little wink as if to further convey his final kitchen escapades.

Feliciano let out a small laugh, a smile turning up his lips and causing his eyes to crinkle. "Ve~ You're funny Francis."

"Thank you," he replied with a mock bow. It was good, no, it was right to see Feliciano smiling. Despite the circumstances of his arrival here, Feliciano had never failed to present himself with a sunny disposition and a happy frivolous laugh to others. He was their own little bundle of sunshine, perhaps a bit childish and clumsy about certain things, but a nice change of pace from seriousness. Feliciano was rarely without a smile, even if Francis knew he desperately wanted to escape from here.

He'd almost made it a couple of times, too. The youth could be surprisingly quick when he was running from you, but unfortunately Gallery Nine's security was tight. Francis tried very hard not to remember what had happened to Feliciano then. It made now look… like nothing. "You really do appear to be feeling better," he mused before letting his eyes sweep Feliciano's room. They were all allowed some means to pass the time, usually in the form of DVDs or games or books brought in. There was even a fitness center of course, but that was more a requirement than an option considering their line of work.

For Feliciano, however, sketchbooks and paints were more the order of the day, and sure enough there were vibrant canvasses piled in the corner of the room.

"Ooooh… big brother is going to go take a look at your art," he drawled, earning a mild whine of protest.

"No… please stop taking my paintings! And I need to come get the ones you took back…"

"Ooooh? Challenging big brother? If that's the way you want to do it, I'll certainly play with you!" He let his hands wander to Feliciano's sides, in a tickling mockery of a grope that Francis was careful to keep light. The other was injured, after all.

"N-nooo… ve~ That tickles big brother!" The younger squirmed just a bit beneath his sheets, a laugh and a tiny grimace of pain both on his lips. Francis gave his head a light pat before standing, turning on a small lamp near the canvasses once he was close enough so he could see them better. Feliciano remained on his bed.

It was all a bit of a game really between the two of them, the supposed theft of the art and the futile efforts to get it back. Francis was careful never to take any paintings that he thought were terribly important to the other, while Feliciano had a habit of painting pieces here and there certain to catch the blond man's eye. Honestly, everything that the young man of Italian descent painted was gorgeous; he really had talent for it. Francis was careful never to delve too deeply into the personal lives of the other hosts, so he wasn't sure if Feliciano was a professional artist. If he wasn't, he should be.

He was sorting through the canvasses slowly, already setting aside a positively lust worthy portrait of two lovers, when his eyes caught on it. There was one canvas that seemed as though it'd been hidden. It wasn't set with the others, and Francis could only barely make out the square edges under the mess of art supplies piled on top. One would hardly notice it really… and yet now he couldn't help but wonder. He started to push the art supplies away, and drew the painting up before his eyes.

He let out a soft gasp, eyes widening in awe of not only the splendid and superior detail, but at the loving warmth that seemed to radiate from the picture. It didn't seem like such an emotion could come from this painting, this portrait. The expression of the subject was anything but pleased, one might almost say somewhat vexed. There was a crease to the brow, a terseness of the lips. It was in the eyes that Francis was feeling the passion come free, sharp blue eyes that couldn't hide the apparent fondness this subject had for the viewer. 'No, for the painter.' The slicked back blond hair and facial features were not familiar to Francis, but that did not mean he did not very clearly understand just what he was holding.

"Feliciano… no…" His voice was soft and rueful. He shook his head, making soft sounds of disapproval. Behind him he heard Feliciano stir on the bed, trying to catch a glimpse of what painting Francis held. The strangled gasp only served to cement Francis's suspicions, as did the frantic scramble the other made off the bed. Through winces and stabs of pain Feliciano limped at Francis, virtually collapsing on the man while trying to yank the portrait from the blond man's hands. For his part Francis was having quite the time trying to support the frantic man and not lose the painting.

"Give it back give it back! You can't take this from me! Take all of the others but you can't have this one! You can't take him away from me!"

Feliciano was reaching hysterics, and Francis set the painting down, letting it prop against his leg while moving to embrace the Italian. "Shhh shhh," he cooed out, soothing and soft. With one hand he gently stroked the other man's hair, planting soft kisses on eyes that were leaking tears. The struggling body against him gave out soon enough, Feliciano's energy gone all too soon, and Francis scooped the other up in his arms, to carry him to the bed. He had to start walking very carefully, letting the painting fall against the floor with a soft thud.

"Please big brother… I need him… I…"

"Feliciano," Francis began as he tucked the other back down in bed, smoothing the sheets and the other's hair. He moved to lean over Feliciano, cupping his head gently with one hand as he held his gaze. "You must understand how dangerous it is for you to have that painting, you must know surely?"

"But Francis… I… that's…"

"No. Do not tell me who he is. I must not know." Sighing, the blond ran a hand through his own hair, avoiding the other's eyes now that they seemed so dismal. "I must take it Feliciano." Before the other could object, Francis quickly brought a finger to Feliciano's lips. "It is for your safety, and for his. I do not know who this man is, nor do I wish to. However, if this portrait were to linger with you… if somehow it was found and connected to you… it would be trouble." He didn't need to say or hear that this man was important to the other. It was more than obvious at this point.

He could see the way Feliciano's lip trembled, and Francis's heart went out to the other. "Listen to me… I must take this painting from you… but I promise I shall protect it. I promise not to let anything bad happen to it, yes? Please Feliciano, I do not want to see you get into further troubles…"

The youth on the bed let out a sniffle, then turned hopeful eyes at Francis. "May I come see it… sometimes?"

Francis considered this for a while, before nodding his head yes. "Oh I shall look forward to your visits," he replied, with much innuendo that went completely over Feliciano's head. That was alright though, for today at any rate. Today, for now, he needed to be the nice big brother. Feliciano was too close to breaking at the moment for anything else. No matter his desires, actually physically or mentally ruining someone was not Francis's deal. Far from it. He was a lover, right?

The youth was already falling into a fitful sleep again when Francis moved to pick up the portrait, taking a couple other paintings to hide it on his walk back to his own room. His brows knit in thought as he slipped out the door, and his feet did not immediately carry him onward. 'There's nothing I can do about it… or is there?' He shook his head, blond waves dancing about his shoulders as he did so. 'No, there is… I must continue to assist Alfred.' Tossing his head, he started to walk back towards his room. Yes, he would pay the other a visit after he got the paintings to safety.

X x x x x x x x x x x x x x

Lips sucked and tugged on his own bottom one greedily, reluctant to give up their connection to him. A tongue flicked out, caressing into the kiss one last time before the woman pulled away from him. Alfred leaned forward just slightly, following her body away from the kiss, letting his fingers untangle from sweetly sweaty red curls of hair. Fawning hazel eyes were pinned to him with much regret and longing, and what could the blond do but flash that smile of his?

"I hate to see ya go," he said, and though his language would certainly be called coarse and unrefined by some hosts, it was the manner of speaking Alfred was known for. It was all too informal, too carefree. It was the voice of the not-so-accidental heartbreaker. "Stop by and ask for me again anytime."

"I will," the woman murmured, her name already falling out of Alfred's head as he watched her give one last adjustment to her clothes before moving to the door. Upon opening it she was greeted by Toris, who calmly led her away. Alfred let out a sigh which turned to a yawn once he was alone in the room, vaguely wondering if he should look for his shirt but not really caring. He reached over to the low table that sat in front of the plush couch he was sprawled indecently upon, grabbing up a shot glass and tossing it back.

'Oh man, taking shots in before six o'clock at night, that's a low, right?' Ah well, his schedule was shot, it followed the whims of his customers, not the average routine now, right? He slammed the shot glass down with a little more force than necessary, feeling a comfortable heat in his cheeks. How many had he tossed back with that client? Not enough to get him wasted, but more than left him of the mind for counting. He'd definitely drink some water when he got back to his room, that was for sure. His gaze dipped to look at his chest, and he smirked. He'd take a shower, too.

This sure was a life he could get tricked into liking, if he wasn't careful. If his clients never changed that is, if he was always used to entertain women only… Alfred could see how someone could get lulled into thinking this was alright. But no… no! This wasn't the life of a hero, and he reminded himself through his alcohol induced buzz that he was here on a mission. A mission! He needed to keep his priorities straight. He needed to keep trying to gather information… he needed to investigate, and above anything else he really needed to find a way to contact Arthur and the others!

"Ready to go back to your room Alfred?" Toris had returned, here to collect the host and take him up to the third floor once again. With a bit of a sway and a giddy snippet of laughter, Alfred rose from the couch and ambled to the brunette's side like an obedient dog. He looped an arm over the shorter man's shoulder, half in camaraderie, and half for support. With all of the drink and his lack of glasses, the world was far from a stable and welcoming sight.

"Yep! You can tell the boss there was another satisfied customer, all thanks to me!" He waved an arm in the air so dramatically it almost sent the two careening into the wall. Toris stopped them to steady them, casting the stairs a wary glance.

"How much did you drink?" He questioned, a bit of concern in his voice. Alfred smirked before tossing up a confident air.

"Not so much that a bunch of stairs will defeat me! Come on!" Snatching Toris's hand, he all but dragged the other man along as he made a dash for the stairs, bounding up them in twos and even threes here and there. Sputtering protests and yelps of fear accompanied his laughing voice, and dimly in the back of his mind Alfred was trying to do another tally on how many shots he'd drunk. Maybe more than he'd previously estimated after all.

His feet came to a stumbling shuffling halt at the top of the staircase, sliding and almost tripping over themselves as he turned about to make sure Toris was ok. The man looked decidedly pale, but otherwise all was well. At a much more reasonable pace, the two made their way to Alfred's room.

"I'll bring up a pot of black coffee for you if you'd like… you have another client later tonight. Unless you wanted to sleep until then?" Alfred scratched at the back of his head, weighing the offer. He gave the other a thumbs up.

"Coffee is good! Thanks man!" A pleasant smile was offered him in return before the two parted ways once again. Alfred really didn't waste any time in heading for his private bathroom, turning the shower on immediately. He could smell the woman's perfume all over him, and while it wasn't unpleasant, it wouldn't do to smell like a past client when meeting a new one. He stripped down, tossing his clothes haphazardly about the tiled floor, before stepping into the spray of water. Rather than letting it hit his back, Alfred stood so it hit his chest instead. The plumbing was good here, and the water was already warming nicely.

He let out a breath, then let his head relax under the stream, the warm liquid rushing over his face. Perhaps a cold shower would have worked to clear his head a bit better, but the heat was heavenly and it unknotted muscles he hadn't even realized were tense. His blond hair grew darker as the water saturated it, plastering down into his face and covering his eyes in playful tendrils. Stepping back from the water so he could breath, Alfred let his head hang forward again so that the water could hit the back of his neck. His blurry vision watched liquid trails snake down his chest, running over and around his abs. He was just about to reach out a hand to steady himself against the wall when his peace was shattered.

"Mmm… such the view…" At the sound of that sultry purr, Alfred's head snapped up, eyes shooting to see a certain blond pervert leaning against the doorframe of his bathroom. The man was staring at him unashamedly from his spot, and though without his glasses the younger couldn't technically see it, he could imagine the lustful face on the perverted creeper.

On pure instinct alone, Alfred tried to scramble back and away, effectively losing his footing on the wet tile and having to flail his arms to keep from cracking his head open. He cursed as he slipped, finding himself sliding down on his rear, his elbows hitting the sides of the shower painfully, legs splaying out and effectively stripping him of both pride and modesty all at once. He growled at the sheer amusement and pleasure he could hear in the chuckle that came from Francis, and when the other man started approaching he flailed and fumbled until he was in a crouch, hands very protectively covering up his crotch.

Slinking forward, the older blond all but radiated an amorous aura. His eyes took on a leering gleam that would have terrified young maidens everywhere. "I don't know why I didn't think of this before, taking a shower together… come… let me help you clean those hard to reach—"

"Francis!" He shouted, cutting the other man off. He tried to glare fiercely at the other, to preserve some of his dignity, but knew the efforts were mostly useless when his cheeks felt like they were on fire. At the very least the other had the decency to stop his words and approach, and Alfred nodded his head at the door. "Out!"

"Aww, but Alfred…" Francis replied, his voice the perfect smooth blend of pleading and seduction. Alfred swallowed hard, reminding himself he needed to stick to his guns here. 'This shouldn't even be a difficult choice anyway!'

"No! Go! Out! Now!"

"Tsk… as you wish… though you don't know what you're missing…" With a graceful wave of the hand, and of course one more very long look at the naked man in the shower, Francis retreated from the bathroom. Alfred waited until he was certain it was 'safe' before taking some calming breaths. His heart was pounding and his cheeks were still red he knew, and it both pissed him off and left him oddly flustered. As he wrapped a towel about his waist, Alfred once again considered he'd had more to drink than he'd realized. What other explanation was there to what he was feeling now?

This little shock seemed to have him sobered up now at least.

Wrapping a towel around his waist and wishing he had something more substantial to use as a barrier, Alfred cautiously made his way out of the bathroom. As he suspected, Francis was still in his room, lounging on his bed as if he were Cleopatra awaiting her lover. Alfred's grip on his towel only tightened, his shoulders tensing up. "You stay there," he warned the other man, and Francis was content it seemed to recline and observe. Alfred wished his room had a window he could use to pitch the other man out of.

Retreating to his closet, Alfred gathered up a pair of boxers and some comfortable black sweat pants. He actually shut himself into the closet while he put those clothes on, rushing and wriggling in an effort to deny the other man any further sight of his body. It wasn't until he had on his two layers of protection that he started to feel the tension ebb out of his body, and without caring what it was, he grabbed at a t-shirt and pulled it over his head and arms. Feeling safe, he exited the closet, heading for his dresser where his precious glasses perched waiting.

His vision restored and his head feeling alert again, Alfred was ready to face Francis. He hated meeting a challenge with muddy sight and a clouded mind, knowing it made him tense and prone to a certain level of rashness. Granted, he knew most people said he was a rather reckless individual at the best of times anyway, but Alfred knew better. He cleared his throat and crossed his arms over his chest, blue eyes gleaming and ready to take on Francis now. "So, what the hell are you doing in here, huh? Don't you work anymore or do all the clients just want me now?"

A sly smile crossed Francis's lips, though he didn't move from his sensually relaxed position. "The day you're more popular as a lover than I is the day the world ends." His voice rang with utter confidence and cool smug satisfaction. Alfred was undaunted, however, and gave a mocking laugh.

"You're only more popular because you'll take any client! My standards cut down my possibilities, so really I'm probably more popular than you already if you uh… average it all out!" He gave a satisfied nod of his head, before noticing that the coffee Toris had mentioned was already sitting on the table of his room, ready and waiting for him. He strode over and poured a cup, having no manners with which to offer any to Francis.

With a lazy and almost catlike stretch, Francis shifted on the bed. "Your 'standards' aren't going to matter anymore all too soon, remember? Your days of special treatment are numbered."

Alfred sighed, feeling his stomach churn at the thought of it. Why… why would he have to 'entertain' men too? Couldn't they just hire another person like him or something? Another guy who was awesome and handsome and wild but actually into men? Of course, Alfred knew there was no one out there who was as cool as he was, so in a way the solution he hoped for was impossible. Didn't mean he didn't hope for it though. He took a long sip of his coffee, hating how difficult his mission was being. In the movies infiltrations never took this long. Ever. Not for heroes like him. "Don't remind me," he muttered at last, morose as a pouting child.

There was silence for a few moments between them before Francis shifted once again, rising from the bed and coming to stand well within the man's personal bubble of space. Alfred opened his mouth to quip out an objection to the closeness, and started to protest with a whine when Francis's fingers reached for his coffee cup, liberating it from Alfred's grasp and placing it down on the table. "Hey, what gives man?" His hoped his voice came off more offended than flustered. He was probably hoping in vain.

Francis smiled at him with hooded eyes, reaching out as if to cup Alfred's cheek. Not about to just let the other man molest him, Alfred batted the hand away, moving to take a step back. There was a loud bump and the clatter of dishes as Alfred realized he'd just backed into the table. 'Curse you table, you ally of evil!' He cleared his throat and tried to look anywhere but at Francis. The older man's hand snaked out to touch him again, this time just the fingertips coming to hold lightly to Alfred's jaw line.

Francis used this to turn his gaze to him, and Alfred bristled inside as he felt his face flush red. Francis's eyes were doing that thing again though… that stupid look where he seemed less flirty, less promiscuous. 'Don't look at me like that.' Alfred watched as Francis let his head fall to the side just slightly, a charmingly subdued smile offered to him. "Alfred," Francis said softly, his voice so very sincere. It made Alfred's breathing hitch for a moment. "Let me help you… let me teach you. I want you to succeed Alfred… please… you do not know how unreasonable the bosses are. They will hurt you if you are not careful. And then? Then…"

Alfred watched as some of the warmth seemed to bleed from Francis's eyes, as the older man averted his gaze. The younger man had the sudden impression there was more to the story here, but his tongue was too tied to ask.

"You cannot be a hero if you die Alfred…" Fingertips rubbed at his skin softly, so very light yet not enough to tickle him. Whatever was going on in the other man's mind seemed to be shuffled aside quickly though, for Francis's smile seemed to become sly and teasing again, a coy expression claiming his face. "Let me help you Alfred… you'll let me help you won't you?"

Francis arched a questioning brow, and Alfred's heartbeat sped up tremendously. A lot of it was just good old fashioned panic and revulsion at the thought of kissing a man (or more god forbid!). Some of it was fear that he really would fail his mission (though of course that fear was fleeting, heroes didn't fail!). What he was loathe to even begin to think, however, was that his heart was racing because of Francis. He balled his hands into fists, warring with his emotions and common sense.

'The mission… the mission… the mission…' He repeated it over and over in his head, steeling his nerves. He'd known this was something that could happen going in, right? He'd said he could handle anything, right? He could handle anything, couldn't he? 'Fuck yeah I can… who am I kidding? I can do it all!' Sweeping his doubts away with his ridiculously inflated ego, Alfred reached his conclusion. Time to jump into the deep end. Time to rip the Band-Aid off. He locked eyes with Francis, and gave him his awesome smile.

"Ok." Alfred gave Francis the thumbs up gesture, and the older man looked absolutely pleased with the world.

Author's Note:

So much sappiness and angst and stuff, eesh. As you can see, I'm a fan of France in a sort of nice big brother mode as well. I can't help it, even if he's the perviest big bro you can get.

I actually an not happy with the part of this chapter with France and Italy. Not because I think it was bad or anything, but it didn't come out the way I wanted it to. I thought about chopping it out of this chapter over and over (and boy that would have shortened this chapter if I did!), but I had to leave it in because it starts showing some of France's story and motivations. Ugh. Who knows. Maybe the dissatisfaction is all in my head. Hopefully it was ok to read.

Lesse, Arthur's cover name is just something I tossed together pretty quick. Gareth being the name of one of King Arthur's Knights and Doyle of course just being a part of Sir Arthur Conan-Doyle's name. For those wondering why Alfred doesn't seem to have a cover name… well, you'll just have to wait.

Next chapter though… next chapter! Finally we get into some actual FrUs action, beginning to creep towards that M rating.