Author's note: So in this chapter, begins the real story. Basically, 18 years have passed. Arthur is now 23 and Francis is 26. At age 20, Arthur moved out of his family's house and bought his own mansion, taking Francis with him to continue being his own personal maid.
Also, in case it's not obvious, Søren = Denmark.
My Maid's A Man
Chapter 2
18 years later
"Rise and shine, young master!" Francis wasn't in the mood for playing around with Arthur today. He had just endured twenty minutes of shaving his legs, chest, and underarms and the small wisps of facial hair around his chin. He was feeling less masculine by the minute.
Arthur groaned and rolled over on his overly large bed. "S'too early," he grumbled.
"It is 9:30 sharp, sir. Your mother wanted you up and ready by 10."
"My head hurts."
"That is what you get for staying out drinking all night."
"Francine, why are you so cruel?"
"I am not being cruel. I am trying to get you up." He grabbed the sheets and pulled hard. Arthur fell to the floor with a thump.
"Bloody woman!" he growled and then moaned as his head throbbed. "Just…get me a cup of a tea, would you? And a suit."
"Your mother has already prepared a suit for you, sir."
Francis held up the audacious outfit and Arthur squinted at it. "Oh that's awful. She honestly expects me to wear something that gaudy?" Francis shrugged. "Shred it, Francine. I'll tell Mother the cat got it."
"You haven't got a cat, sir."
"…the alley cat got it."
"Of course." Arthur untangled himself from the bed sheets and let them fall to the floor, revealing himself to both Francis and the maid entering the room with his tea. The older woman shrieked while Francis sighed and caught the tea cup before it smashed to the floor. "You really should go to bed with some sort of underwear, sir," Francis said with a shake of his head.
"Why?" Arthur grumbled, taking the tea cup and sipping from it. "It never bothers you."
"Yes, but the other unfortunate souls who work here do not need to see your manhood first thing in the morning."
Arthur grinned then. "You sly vixen, you just want me all to yourself."
Francis rolled his eyes. "Yes, monsieur. That is my deepest, darkest desire. Now would you please get dressed and go meet your mother?"
With a wave of his hand, Arthur told him to leave his room and Francis was only too happy to. He breathed a sigh of relief and watched his step as he walked down the staircase. "Francine, is the master decent yet?" another maid asked.
"He's working on it, Isabel," he replied.
"Oooh that man is so infuriating! I don't understand how you can constantly deal with him!"
"We have…a long history together." He smiled fondly.
"He's coming, he's coming!" another maid cried. Francis rushed out to go greet him.
Arthur was standing still, waiting for Francis to come fix him up. "You never tie your tie correctly," Francis sighed heavily, reaching to fix it.
"Perhaps it is just my excuse to have your hands on me," he winked.
"Save the flirtatious talk for your potential brides, sir," Francis said with a roll of his eyes.
"Brides, right," he mumbled.
"You do not want to marry?"
"I want to marry who I want to marry, not who my mother chooses for me."
Francis stepped back and observed him. "I think you are ready."
"Good, 'cos I want to get this over with quickly. I'll meet the girls, reject them, and then come home."
"Sounds like a wonderful plan, sir."
Arthur reached for his top hat and cane by the door. "See you at noon, Francine." The moment he was out the door, everyone in the servants' quarters breathed a sigh of relief.
"Tell me again why you're late," Lady Kirkland hissed under her breath to her son as she smiled at the women coming to greet them.
"I told you, Mother," Arthur snarled, bowing to a pretty brunette. "I overslept."
"And Francine did not wake you?"
"She did. I just refused to get up."
She sighed deeply. "I don't understand why you must constantly be avoiding these meetings."
"Because I don't want to choose a wife, Mother."
She looked scandalized. "You are 23 years of age, Arthur!" she gasped. "What else do you plan to do with your life?"
"I rather enjoy drinking, honestly."
"I do not understand why you are like this. Your father—"
"Is a right bastard, and don't you ever deny it. I don't ever want to be like him."
Pursing her lips tightly, she turned back to the women. "Won't you just give them a chance?"
"Fine. Excuse me, miss?" he called to a blonde. She blushed slightly as she walked over to him. He took her hand and placed a kiss on it. "What is your name?"
"L-Lady Olivia Gladfield, my lord," she giggled.
"I see. And what do you do in your spare time?"
Her smile faded suddenly. "I'm sorry, what?"
"Your hobbies, Miss Gladfield. What are they?" he growled.
"O-Oh, well I like to pick wildflowers from the garden and—"
"Picking wildflowers from your garden," he repeated, looking to his mother in triumph. "I'm sorry, my dear, but that's not the answer I was looking for." He faked a smile and turned to leave.
"Arthur!" his mother shouted. "You can't just leave!"
"I can and I will, Mother," he said coolly, looking over his shoulder. "My maid has better hobbies than these women. Until you can find someone who suits my tastes, I will remain a bachelor. Good day."
"And then she tells me that her hobby is picking wildflowers from her garden!" Arthur exclaimed over dinner as Francine served him. "I swear, I don't know where my mother finds these bloody tarts."
Francis chuckled. "So I see you won't be winning any hearts anytime soon."
"Not from that lot." He sighed and rested his hand in his palm. "Sometimes I wish life could be simple like in those fairytales. Prince finds his princess. The end. None of this other shit to deal with."
"I'm sorry," Francis mumbled.
"For what? It's not your fault my family's the way it is."
"No, but I encourage your horrible behavior."
Arthur smirked. "The only woman who does."
Francis stiffened. He always seemed to forget he wasn't a woman, especially around Arthur. They would snark back and forth as though they weren't just master and maid, but good friends as well.
"I must be mad, then," Francis said as he went to do the dishes.
Arthur stood up and wrapped his arms around Francis' waist. "Come sit down with me," he purred against his ear. "Enjoy the lunch that you made."
"I-I really can't, sir. The dishes—"
"Leave them for Caroline." He pulled away with a charming smile and wiggled his eyebrows, making Francis laugh suddenly. "Wot?" he said, smile dropping from his face. "What's so funny?"
"Y-Your eyebrows."
"What about them?" he snarled.
"Sir," he giggled, "they look like caterpillars when you move them like that."
He pouted. "Francine, I do not pay you to make fun of me."
"I'm sorry," he chuckled.
"Why is it so easy to talk with you?" Arthur muttered. "With other women it's so bloody boring but with you…I actually can have conversations with you and I'm never bored."
"Perhaps you have not found the right woman, sir."
"Perhaps." Francis wasn't about to point out that he wasn't really a woman, but he hadn't told anyone in 18 years and he wasn't about to blow his cover yet. He had long since paid off his mother's debts but she was ill now, and as much as he disliked her, he needed the job to help pay for her medical bills. He was especially happy once Arthur moved out of his family's home and bought his own mansion and took Francis with him to be his personal maid.
Over their years together, Francis and Arthur had become close, almost friends in a sort of strange way. Arthur had barbaric friends that he liked to go out drinking with, which Francis didn't particularly like since all he did was complain of hangovers the next morning, but he accepted it. It was getting harder and harder to hide his real self though. His voice hurt from constantly keeping it at a decently feminine pitch and the hair on his body wanted to grow desperately and although he knew he looked beautiful in the maid dress, he would have preferred being able to live as a man.
"Well, it's about time I was off," Arthur said suddenly. "Gilbert and Søren will be waiting at the bar for me."
"Drinking again?" Francis scowled.
"I know you hate my habits, but it's the only time I can spend time with men my own age."
Francis frowned. "You can't expect me to carry you to your room every time, sir."
Arthur waved him off. "I know, I know. I promise I'll only drink a pint tonight."
Hours later, when the clock struck midnight, Francis was woken by the sound of knocking on the front door. He stood and went to open it, shocked to see two men flushed red and holding Arthur up.
"Hi, Francine," the man holding Arthur's right arm leered. "Artie drank a little too much tonight again."
"Always a pleasure to see you, Gilbert," Francis said stiffly. "And you, Søren."
"Arthur doesn't realize how good you are to him," the Dane said as he helped lift the Englishman into Francis' arms.
"I can take it from here, boys. Thank you for bringing him home." They nodded to him and left. Francis shut the door and sighed and he half-dragged Arthur up the stairs. "What am I going to do with you?" he whispered. He stumbled a bit as he reached the top of the stairs and fell into the wall with Arthur pressed flush against him. Arthur suddenly jerked awake and opened his eyes. Francis panicked. Arthur's hand was on his fake breast and once Arthur realized that, he gave a lazy smirk and squeezed. "S-Sir, that is-"
"Your tit's not as squishy as I thought it'd be," he slurred.
"What?"
"Your tit," Arthur said and squeezed the fake breast again, "it's not that squishy."
"I-I'm sorry?" Arthur removed his hand and then moved it down lower, going under Francis' dress. "N-No!" Francis cried. "Arthur!"
The grin on Arthur's face faltered slightly. Francis felt his finger on his cock and then it moved down to his balls and Arthur squinted his eyes as though seeing something no one else could. "Well that's different," he said before fainting dead away. Francis took a deep breath, the blush on his face disappearing. He hoisted Arthur back up and dragged him into his room.
"That was too close," he mumbled to himself.