Hello, my dears! Welcome back to another chapter. I'm really glad to see that there is still so much interest in this story since it tells me that I apparently do something right :3 Thank you for all your lovely comments and faves, it means very much to me n_n

Disclaimer: I don't own anything, sadly.

Warnings: Uh...language, vivid talking about sex, drunk Englishmen

Enjoy!

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Chapter 5

There are quite a few moments in their on-going "relationship" ( whatever term of "relationship" they have) where Francois learns something about Alfred that truly astounds him and shows him once again how different they are in some areas. Most of these moments happen during completely normal sessions and most of them are only small revelations too, but somehow Francois considers them incredibly important and he still doesn't exactly know why. One of these moments happens after three or four sessions when Francois finally wants to start the real painting, except-

"Why don't you just take some pictures of me?" Alfred demands to know the next time when Francois mildly scolds him again for being so fidgety. "Wouldn't that be, y'know, easier?"

"Maybe it would be, yes," Francois absently agrees and looks for a hair ribbon to tie his hair back because as much as he loves his hair it is quite in the way today. "But I don't like working with pictures. It's so much-" For a moment he searches for the right word, then he continues: "It's more plastic, more vividly. Even though you are wriggling like a five-year-old, mon cher."

He ends with a wink and a smile and Alfred just grins and ducks his head like a child expecting to be punished (which Francois really does not like, but he can't do anything about it besides smiling reassuringly to show that he is not angry). Finally he is successful in his search and finds a black velvet ribbon in a drawer. He busies himself with his hair for a moment and whips out a small hand mirror to check his appearance, but he is lovely as always, so he tucks it away pretty soon. When he turns around, he finds Alfred smiling at him, a warm, honest smile, and somehow it makes something flutter in his chest.

"What is it, mon cheri?" He asks and wonders for the first time how his English may sound in the ears of a Native speaker. Francois has not much occasions to speak English since he is reluctant to leave France when he doesn't absolutely have to and the French speak, well, French- and he is quite content with this because he still thinks that English is a harsh language, at least when compared to his beautiful, flowing French that sounds like a river washing over smooth, white stones in a little stream, heated by the sun and surrounded by only the most beautiful things. However, English- especially British English, he mentally adds as a matter of principle-does not sound nice in his ears, being a bit too sharp around the edges and without apparent grace. Still, he likes the accent Alfred has when he does not mind a correct pronunciation so Francis can understand him (which is actually quite sweet, especially because it comes from someone who has no reason to show him more friendliness than necessary). He finds something appealing in the way Alfred butchers the English language then, making it so much softer by swallowing various syllables, not really impossible to understand, but almost.

"Nothin'," Alfred answers and his smile widens a bit so Francois catches a glimpse of his pearly teeth and wonders, not for the first time, how the boy manages to be in such a good health. "Just thought it's kinda cute how much you think of y'appearance."

"Quais, some people take care of their appearance, mon cher," Francois replies with a wink and a charming smile.

"You don't think I take care of my appearance?" Alfred asks and Francois is a bit surprised at his frown.

"That's not what I said," He carefully answers.

"Yeah, but it sounded a bit like it, y'know?" Alfred says, "In fact, I need to take care of my appearance. If I didn't, well." There is something twisted about the way he smiles now and Francois doesn't like it. "Wouldn't change my amount of Johns, I guess, but Yao wouldn't be pleased." Francis has the feeling that he shouldn't ask any further, so he just nods and gives a smile, ignoring the unwanted chill running down his spine because he realizes, again, that Alfred does not have complete power over his body, that there is someone who has the power to tell him to sleep with as much people as he, Yao, wants.

"Do you like it?" He asks suddenly because it is a question he has had for quite a while now but never asked because he was afraid of the answer. Now, though, he spilled it and he is fairly sure that Alfred will answer him. "Sleeping with other people?"

Alfred frowns a bit, then he throws his head back and laughs heartedly. "Man, you really got me!" He laughs again, but quiets down when he sees Francois' facial expression. "Oh, that wasn't a joke, right?"
"Non," Francois answers honestly.

"Well, I don't," Alfred says bluntly and chews a bit on his nails before continuing: "I mean, sometimes it's okay! I don't mind sleeping with you, for example, I guess other people really dig you as a lover, huh?"

Francois sits down and lits a cigarette because he feels that this is important. "Most of them do, yes," He says with a smile. "Why don't you like it?"
"Well…" Alfred hesitates for a moment and there is a glimpse of vulnerability in his eyes that doesn't belong there. "People usually are not exactly niceto you when they pay for you, you know? They think that because they paid for you, they can do everything to you and I guess they're right in some way. I mean, that's we're for, right? I never say no-can't. Most of the customers wouldn't be pleased, so Yao wouldn't be very pleased and I really-don't like Yao bein' pissed at me, y'know? Makes things…not nice."

"I thought he doesn't hit you."
"He has his methods."

Francois nods and thinks about this very carefully while he prepares the canvas. He doesn't know what he should think about Yao having his "methods", but Alfred is not a delicate lady and he guesses that he can handle himself as far as it is possible. "So sex is never something pleasant for you?"

"No," Alfred answers a bit hesitantly, then he adds quickly: "But it's really okay fucking with you, you know! You're really good!"

"You don't need to flatter me, Alfred, it's alright," Francois replies mildly although something stings and burns in his chest again because he has always, always taken pride in pleasuring his partners as much as getting pleasured by them, probably even more so. Alfred was right in saying that he is a lover; Francois has always considered himself to be one. He finds beauty in the human shape and he is determined to help people to see how beautiful they are. To hear that somebody didn't enjoy sleeping with him doesn't only hurt his pride, but also something deep down in his heart. He ashes into the nearby vase and orders Alfred around until he has them in the position he wants him to be. Alfred follows his orders obediently and again Francois wonders how often he has already done so under different circumstances. "So you never come?"

Alfred shakes his head. "Not if I don't have to, no. Sometimes, I'm—well, you know," He stumbles a bit over his words and Francois is surprised to actually find something like embarrassment in a hooker but then, he thinks, why not? He doesn't know which kind of personality Alfred has—true, he knows that he is usually a quite positive person, cheerful even, but he doesn't even know if the way he acts around him is even true. And furthermore, he is still so young-maybe he doesn't want to speak about the thing he does. Maybe having to do them is enough. Who is he to talk about these things? Francois only makes love when he feels like it. Alfred doesn't even call it making love. "Sometimes I show some reaction, y'know, if people actually are a bit more considerate than usual or just happen to hit the right spot or if they- gosh, you wouldn't believe it, but there are some pretty freaks out there-pay to give me a blowjob or something like that, can't really help that, can I? But I don't want-well, most people don't care about it anyways, so…"

But Francois has caught his slip of the tongue and frowns. "You don't want to come?"

This time it needs more than a moment until Alfred answers, so long, in fact, that Francois thinks he won't answer at all, but then Alfred says: "Well, I don't like the people I sleep with and I don't like, y'know, having sex at all, so why should I want that?"

"So you don't like me?" Francois asks and hasn't intended to sound that hurt, but he did and there is nothing he can do about it now.

Alfred widens his eyes a bit and sits up, changing the position he has been in. "No, I-you're very kind to me and I-I guess-y'see, I never had any contact with other customers outside of the club or, well, a hotel, so this is somethin' new for me," He admits a bit sheepishly. "But even though I kinda like you, I just don't-like sex. Sorry." He frowns a bit and asks: "Was that too honest? Yao always tells me I should say what the people wanna hear, but I don't-wanna lie to you, y'know."

"C'est bien, it's fine," Francois appeases him and sends a friendly little smile along his way, pleased to hear that Alfred at least likes him. There is a plan slowly forming in his mind because Francois can and does not want to accept that sex should not be pleasurable for everybody. Maybe he just needs to convince Alfred a little because apparently he hasn't tried enough until now. He has the feeling that Alfred is someone who deserves love (but then, who doesn't?), who maybe even needs it because all the time Francois draws him, no matter how much he smiles, his eyes are sad and Francois sometimes wonders if there is anybody who takes care of Alfred. Does he have family? Friends? Francois doesn't even know if it would be alright to ask.

"Maybe we should-"Francois begins but he never finds the chance to finish his sentence because right in this moment his door flies open and a very drunk, sinewy man with enormous brows, tousled, choppy blonde hair and blazing green eyes now clouded with the fog only alcohol provides stumbles into his flat. Francois registers that he is wearing a pirate costume; at least it is a very fine one.

"Frog!" The intruder barks with an unmistakable British accent and stumbles towards him, falling into his arms like a potato sack. "Why's my brother such a bloody wanker?"

"Who's that?" Alfred asks curiously from the sofa and the Brit lifts his head and eyes him equally curiously.

"Alfred, this is my poisson, mon fish, Arthur," Francois generously presents Arthur. "Arthur, this is Alfred. He is—my newest model."

"Bet ye fuck him, ye perverted piece of baguettewanker," Arthur growls, losing all of his usual uptight behaviour when he is drunk and leans heavily against him again, tricorn almost falling off his head. "Anyways, Scott's a tosser, ye need to help me murder 'im."

"What happened?" Francois asks and sighs.

"We were about to fuck-"

"You sleep with your brother?" Alfred interrupts him with wide eyes and a visibly disgusted face and Francois can't even judge him for that.

"Arthur is adopted, cheri, they're not really brothers," He explains and adds: "It's all a bit difficult with those two, you know." He doesn't mention that Alfred is most certainly not the only one who thinks that Arthur's and Scott's relationship is at least weird, because even though they are not brothers by blood, they were mostly raised like ones and how could you fall in love with someone you consider your brother, even only partially? But Francois is not one to judge and he has to admit that there is something nice, beautiful even, about them when they are not busy with arguing.

"Aye," Arthur agrees and watches Alfred with bloodshot eyes. "And I don't need your opinion, thank you very much. Who are ye anyways? One of Francois' whores?"

Alfred visibly stiffens and Francois hisses a warningly "Arthur!", but Arthur, not giving a fuck about what Francois has to say to him especially when he is drunk, doesn't even bat an eyelash and continues, venom in every word he says: "Coming here to get painted by him and hoping to get famous someday? Tell you what: He'll fuck you and then he'll drop you and I can't even condemn him for that. He even did it with me. God, frog, I hate you!" He suddenly wails and Francois sighs because he knows how things will go from here.

"I think I'll go now," Alfred says quietly, smiling as usual, but this time not even drunk-as-fuck Arthur would have believed it. He stands up and runs a hand through his hair, correcting his glasses in a nervous gesture Francois has already seen quite a few times on him. "Till the next time, I guess, huh? Bye."
"Please stay," Francois manages to say, but Alfred doesn't seem to hear him because he is out of the door before he could say anything else. With a sigh Francois looks down to Arthur who has placed himself flat on the floor, staring at the ceiling, stroking the sword coming with his pirate costume and sobbing while murmuring insults against everyone he knows, especially Scott and Francois. "You need to ruin anything, don't you?"
Arthur just continues to wail and Francois feels a headache coming.

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