A Timeless Evening
Swinging back and forth on his seat, Francis waited for Arthur's reply with his mobile clutched in his hands. From time to time, he peeked behind to catch a shadow of the hostess' movements before glancing to the still-opaque signal hanging above his head. In a moment it would turn red, demanding to switch all mobiles off. No mobile, no reply repeated an odd fruity voice in the back of his brain. No reply, no Arthur. It added automatically.
"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome on board Flight 4B7 with service from London to Paris. We are currently third in line for take-off and are expected to be in the air in approximately seven minutes time." Just seven minutes? Grasping even more tightly, he pleaded his mobile to burst into light. "We ask that you please fasten your seatbelts at this time and secure all baggage underneath your seat or in the overhead compartments." Baggage? Suddenly, the image of his shirt abandoned in Arthur's car flashed into his hesitation, he dialled Arthur's number. Perhaps, it wasn't so romantic to send two texts in a row, but he could wait for his reply no longer."We also ask that your seats and table trays are in the upright position for take-off. Please turn off all personal electronic devices, including laptops and cell phones." Wait-wait-wait-wait-wait-SENT!
"Sir, would you turn off your mobile, please?" Right next to him, a blue-dressed hostess had appeared from nowhere. Her tired voice tried its best to sound appealingly soft, but her drowsy face could not even hold a smile.
"Alright, Madame." He had just pressed the red button, when the same hostess leant on him, reaching for the iron buckles next to his sides. Enjoying the view of her breasts right in front of his eyes, Francis' body also noticed how those perfectly manicured hands moved roughly up his hips, closing the gap between the two extremities in a quick, nervous click.
"This'll go." Despite the fatigue, she indulged a moment before straightening up completely. It was easy to spot she was torturing the wet, inner part of her bottom lip. "E-Enjoy your flight." She stammered before stepping back, ready to disappear in the back of the plane, when a gentle caress stroked her palm. She turned and smiled with her eyes. "I'll bring you some water, Sir." Wiggling her hips to the front of the aeroplane, she let a nodding Francis admire the nice show of her round bottom, ignoring that once vanished behind the heavy red curtains, he would challengingly switch his mobile on again. Hostess or not, Arthur might call. And Arthur could wiggle his arse ten times more sexily than that bitch.
After the Captain's announcement, the plane eventually took off, a blonde hostess showed the emergency exits and Francis tested the efficiency of the bathroom. His hands had not dried yet, that they were already flying above his motherland.
"Here's your lemon, Sir." Twenty minutes hadn't slipped away since they left England and he had already asked for some ice-cubes and lemon slices to drop into his glass. His body actually craved for wine, but he did not fancy the idea of risking getting some water and bicarbonate. Not to say that the ink-haired hostess was trying her best to be seductive and did he really want to keep her lovable, he should stop making her run up and down the plane.
"Thank you, Cherie. Will you repeat me your name? I can't recall it right now..." He said alluringly, paying more attention to his ice-cubes than to the plastic label glued to her uniform.
"Thy, Sir. Thy Nguyễn."
"Enchanté, Miss Nguyễn."
Since no more was coming from the other's mouth, the almond-eyed girl tried to keep up the conversation with a question. "...May I ask who you are, Sir?"
Stealing a glance at her slinky frame, he elegantly rustled. "Some call me Francis Bonnefoy, but I am much more than a name." When the last ice-cube fell from the teaspoon, his eyes eventually quirked to the side to catch the colours of the impressed girl standing next to him. "Will you sit next to me, Thy? I may be wrong, but apparently, you are very little busy at the moment."
"With short flights like this, Sir, there is never much to do." All happy and cheerful, she gently replied in quickly occupying the empty seat next to him. Not even eyeing her, Francis elegantly took a sip from his plastic glass with the same grace of an expert sommelier tasting refined Champagne from a brilliant flute. Fumbling with the hem of her azure dress, she blurted out. "So, you are going back home... to your family, huh?"
The lemon added a stingy flavour to water, something unique in his simpleness. Francis savoured it slowly and sloppily, before calmly showing a fake smile. "Unfortunately, I am not, Thy."
With eagerness glistening from her eyes, the long-haired hostess pried for more. "So, you are not married...Are you?"
Francis breathed in, licked the rim of his teeth and answered kindly, but mercilessly. "I am, ma douce Thy. I am."
"Oh..." Her disappointed eyes disappeared behind the darkness of her hair. Yet, Francis could still hear the munching sound of her teeth against the skin of her lips. He sighed, tending his hand to caress her hair.
"I'm sorry." He did not know what he should be sorry for. In the end, that was nothing more than a hostess, one among a thousand. Honestly, he had no reason to be sorry. They would walk out, call a cab, get home, have sex, part, forget. But not this time, for this time, for the first time, he had another choice. He would stand up, call Belle, get home, drink and phone Arthur - clean and simple. And he would be happy, truly happy. Still, the same idea of denying that young hostess a night with him sounded terrible. To him, it was like denying someone a crumb of love.
"You wear no ring."
"Pardon?" His hand stopped stroking, as if caressing her hair muffled the sound of her voice.
"You wear no ring." She coldly repeated in raising her head. "Either you're a very unfaithful husband or a very terrible liar."
Francis blinked, unable to understand well. No ring? He looked down at his bare hand just to see there was no sign of belonging there. Since its view hurt him too much, Arthur forced him to hide his wife's in a drawer in his bedroom, along with some other memories from her. And Arthur's...
And since you're worse than a woman, someday I'll have to buy you a ring.
Arthur's. He gazed at his hand, thinking of what kind of ring Arthur would choose for him. Nothing too fancy, he thought, but original at the same time. Probably a golden ring with a small emerald on top, just to remember me that "He always keeps an eye on me." Or a red ruby, too small to be noticed, but proud to shine nonetheless. Or a dark opal, just because he's mysterious like that, him and his passion for magic. Sure is, he's cast a spell on me with his charm. Hey, nice one! I shall tell him so tonight..
When he eventually raised his gaze, he realised the girl had already left. Quite relieved, he smiled, peeked from side to side and took out his phone. He needed someone to pick him up and his secretary insisted so much on wasting some gas over him. However, much to his chagrin, up there in the sky there was no signal at all.
Pity, because if there had been, he would've gotten on time Arthur's bewildered reply.
On getting home, Arthur deliberately ignored anyone but Francis, until he had to stop in front of Yao's house, a meeting he couldn't avoid. Waiting for Yao to open the door, he greeted some of his colleagues, even those he had never seen before.
When Yao's son opened the door, he hadn't the time to say a faint "Hello.", that the young boy was already standing in front of the back-door of his car with a cheeky flame in his orbs. He neither smiled nor spoke, that sly guy, leaving to his eyes the duty of talking.
Throwing the keys at the boy, Arthur watched him unlock the door and get the bottles. Why should he get his hands dirty, when that dark-haired boy so readily volunteered?He did not know, but he helped carrying a couple inside anyway. With his nostrils filled-up with the pungent, acrid scent of incense, he strolled out the house, waving at Yao and his strange son. He breathed in deeply, coughed, insulted the polluted London fog and stepped towards his house. Right before reaching for the handle, he felt a vibration coming from his pocket.
*Love, my shirt is rotting in your car.. Will you rescue it from utter decomposition? ^^"*
Arthur blinked, staring at the lit-up screen. He didn't even notice his arm falling back to his side in disbelief. That jerk's just called me... 'love'?
Paris, finally! Francis dashed out the airport, glancing nervously at his mobile. When are you going to catch some signal? He mentally demanded, when a submitted vibration advised him that Orange was ready to suck his money. On heading to the parking, he dialled Belle's phone number.
"Allo?"
"Hi, baby. Will you close the shop and get your ass at Charles-de-Gaulle before I fire you?"
"Sorry, bitch, but I'm too splendid to be fired. Say,I'll be there in... 10 minutes. Don't get AIDS in the meanwhile!"
"As you wish! I'm waiting for you at the parking, 1st floor. Don't make me wait!" Francis kept on walking till he found a nice spot where to sit. In no time he started skimming through the texts that kept on cramming into his phone.
After deleting a couple from Orange, the name Arthur eventually came up. I should change label, he thought, since anyone might read what the two of them were to send each other.
*Since when you call me "love"?*
Exactly this kind of texts.
"Can't I?" Was his ready reply, but right before pressing the green button, a well-known male voice in his head warned. Can is for abilities. Since you've already written it, you 'can'. Said this, what's the right verb, Frog? "Mayn't I?" After re-writing the message, he read it twice, doubting the existence of that verb itself, but sent the text anyway. English. Love it or hate it.
Shortly afterwards entering his house, Arthur slouched on the couch to select all the texts he'd been ignoring so far. In an hour Ludwig would come and pick him up, so he was better off having some dinner. Getting wasted on an empty stomach wasn't really the smartest idea.
Tip-fingering on the keyboard with his soft pads, he answered quickly to all senders, but one. After some pondering on Francis' text, he came up with the perfect reply. "There is a certain measure of likelihood, but only if you behave yourself."
Francis got up as soon as Belle's blue Citroen curved into the parking.
"How much for a night?" She mocked from behind the lowered windowsill.
"Always too much!" He replied gaining the seat next to her. Once fastened his belt, he took his time to scan her appearance critically. A crimson ribbon decorated her golden hair, cut shoulder-long no more than a week before. A pair of ladybug earrings matched the red dress she had chosen for the day. A dash of pink blush above a mahogany-coloured swirl of pencil, some cherry lipgloss to make her full lips glisten, a golden collier. Nothing too showy, just a gold string with a white-gold crux. If only her white-paint sandals had a shiny brass buckle... It didn't really matter, since her diamonded watch paired up with it quite well. Still, Francis would've preferred another pair of shoes to fit those fairy feet. "I love your dress, but those sandals are terrible."
"I hate your shirt, but I'm sure it's not yours." Peeking to the side, Belle checked Francis' reaction. Pretending to ignore her, he turned shyly to stare out of the window, faigning an interest in the evening sight of Paris. Right assumption, bitch. "If that's not yours, why are you wearing it?"
Francis swallowed. Of course Belle would notice that! Since they knew each other, they'd been commenting on the respective taste in clothes to the point now they could name colour and brand of every single piece of fabric in the other's wardrobe. It was their way to scan each other's mood - having been so since the very first day. Looking back to her, he simply stated. "I've just borrowed it for a while. Why, never lent a shirt, Miss Fashion-cries-my-name?"
"Of course. But now I wonder where your old shirt is." She did not even have to glance to the side to know Francis was reddening with nervousness. It was too easy with him, easy as it had never been. For her, this only meant that eventually, the Serious Girlfriend she was expecting him to get had come. Someone with a brain, not only a nice B-side. Someone with a heart behind those C-cup tits. Someone you could have a serious chat with, not the usual fashion-obsessed doll, good for nothing but wild sex. A Serious Girlfriend, the right one for him.
"I left it somewhere." Worst reply ever.
"Somewhere." Belle repeated, hiding her curiosity under a thick strate of inquisitiveness. She could clearly see that Francis' mind was begging his hand to repetitively smack his face . Now, how couldn't she take advantage of that? "And where is this somewhere exactly, Fran? At some chick's house?"
"No, in a car." Francis, you officially lost the game. Failing miserably at hiding the evidence, he just nervously munched on his lip, fearing Belle's next question.
"A car." Screeching, the car stopped in front of Francis' block of flats. "Not exactly the best place for a first time." Belle commented, raising her brows complicily in peeking at Francis' flushed face. No matter how hard he tried, she had cornered him already, and the sharp sensation of being right was already making her dizzy.
Rocking his head from side to side, he could feel the nervousness building up in his chest. "No no no! We didn't- I mean, I just forgot it there!"
"We, Francis? You and-?" Freed from the belt, Belle could now stare at his crimpled red face, exploring every shade of those quivering blue eyes.
"L-Let's see tomorrow, okay? Bye!" Dashing out the car, Francis ran into the hallway, stepped up the small stairs and stopped only in front of the elevator. Leaning on the wall for support, he couldn't but jump in surprise when Belle's finger pressed the 'up'-button for him.
Waving at him with a smirk on her face, she entered the metallic cage and the button '3' for the both of them. Tenser than before, Francis now could not even bring himself to look into her eyes. "What's wrong, Francelot? King Arthur found out you're in love?"
Francis' teeth dug into his lip. "What if he did?" Arthur would kill him, he was sure of that, but he couldn't keep a secret with Belle. Her tenaciousness would get him to confess anyway, so, why not telling her? "Say, Yseult... What if King Arthur understood my feelings?"
Belle laughed. Despite Francis' seriousness, the lame background music ridiculed the overall effect. Belle laughed whole-heartedly, clasping his hand between her own and dragging him outside. "Falling for someone else's wife! Only you could be so stupid!"
"What?"
"You heard me!" She lifted the desert-coloured welcoming mat to get the key, unlocked the giant wood door and danced into the flat. "I know you're fond of the 'good housewife'-attitude some woman have, but messing with a married mommy- Because she's also a mother, isn't it? And maybe her son is already making some chick out there pregnant. Oh, Franchie-Fran, hardly anyone marries for love these days. Most of them get together because there's a baby in the way - If they get together at all..." She whispered to herself, catching a couple of glasses from the cupboard. "Will you get the wine, please? I bet you keep some in the fridge."
She didn't need to ask for some, since Francis was already grabbing a bottle from the coldest compartment, but she demanded nonetheless. Better to speak nonsensically than let silence fall. Silence brings thoughts and no-one wants to think these days.
"Belle, I don't think you got it right.." He firmly pulled the cork from the bottle, tasted some drops of wine and returned to the living room. As it was getting quite dark, he stretched his arm out to reach for the switch and turned on the light. A faint smile had its way on his face when he noticed that Belle had already opened the windows.
"Don't kid me, I can see it right before my eyes! You, all dressed up for some fabulous party, climbing a stair of roses to get to your beloved - and falling miserably because there's no Romeo&Juliet in real life."
"Maybe the Channel isn't so difficult to overcome. I would douse my suit for sure, but I would either get to the other side or be saved by a random ferry. Be the Captain French, of course. Any Englishman would make me walk the aisle.. Santé." Having poured her some wine before sitting on the red velvet sofa, they now cheered briefly. Arthur, how would you love to be my pirate.
"So, this Mrs Special is an islander?" Rolling the glass between her fingers, she was captured by the pale yellowish colour of those air bubbles rolling up the glass. Better to observe the waves of that golden sea than the fast tides in Francis' blue eyes, especially now that his possessive arm was resting behind her head.
"If you mean a rosbif, that's right." Arthur will kill me. Arthur will kill me slowly and painfully. He will chop off my tongue, mince it, bake a meat-pie and feed me with it. I will die from POISONING!
"And.. What's she like?" Spying from behind her bands, Belle could see Francis tensely clasping at the stem of his flute. In the glass, the wine rolled and quivered like the ocean during a storm, streaming into his mouth when he took another sip of the golden juice. He licked his lips wonderingly.
"Tall... Just like me. Blond, short-haired. With wicked, green eyes and creamy skin. No freckles, no specs, a hideous taste in clothing, amazing in music. Brilliant mind, terrible temper. Curious, artistic, enterprising, but sometimes too cynic, stubborn and suspicious. Drinks tea a lot."
"How can she drink that stuff?"
"I don't know. Santé." They cheered on a new glass and sipped its content calmly. Francis noticed how the artificial light created a cloudy-sky effect on the sponged peach walls of his living room and mentally approved of the choice.
"Sounds like you've know each other for a while." Said Belle in leaning her head on his shoulder. If they knew each other so well, that meant she failed in detecting the first signs of affection. How couldn't she see that he was falling for some gently-smiling uterus-provided being right before her eyes?
Feeling his mouth go dry, Francis had to sip some more winedrops on caressing her hair. After getting rid of her ribbon, he started smoothing down her hair with long strokes, touching her neck lightly with his knuckles. "We have..."
Belle let his hands travel down her shoulder, enjoying the warm feeling they left on his arms. She noted the absence of cologne on his body, substituted by a more innocent scent of cheap soap and coffee. Moving her nose closer to his neck, she could smell a fading savour of lemon and... tea? "You kissed her."
Francis stopped stroking.
"You smell of tea." Certain of her conclusions, she drifted away swiftly to check his reactions. She smirked at his befuddled face and proceeded. "Only one person has this particular smell in his skin, and this is Arthur. But since you can't possibly have an affair with him, I suppose you have a tea-reeking lover. Right?" Why that face?
Francis didn't seem impressed. Actually, his sorry eyes weren't hiding an uncertain worry when he failed to fake a smile. Arthur did smell of tea. His lips, his cheeks, his neck... Even his hands reeked of Earl Grey. No wonder he was now stinking of it, no wonder the shirt he was wearing had that stench on it, no wonder Belle could smell the absence of cologne on his skin. She had soon become like a sister for him, how could he believe she would be so easily fooled?
"Right...?" Belle repeated, trying to get what those vast blue orbs were begging her to keep secret. There was something wrong with his reaction. Why wasn't he beaming at her, telling how the met and all those good lovers do? Why was he just staring into her eyes, munching on his bleeding lip, uncaring for the blood colouring his teeth?
Slowly distancing herself from him, she sought for an answer in those pleading pools. Could it be that-? No, it could not, it just could not. Francis and- Alright, the description matched, but- She didn't even care for the wine spilling over her dress, when Francis' eyes lowered at her whispered "Arthur?"
A frosty silence fell. The breeze blowing into the room suddenly got colder, the peach-coloured walls darker and the plastic flowers on the ebony table seemed to whither and die as if were real.
Francis licked his lips, respired deeply and shot her an uncertain, demanding look. On raising her eyebrows nodding, Belle answered thereto by closing her jaw in a "...Wow."
"Indeed." Not caring for manners any longer, Francis grabbed the bottle from the round table and chugged down some wine. He needed alcohol, a bottle, a pool full of wine, he needed a wine-storm above his head. He swallowed and breathed out toxicity. "If you want to go, the door is open.." He said in lifting the icy bottom of the green glass to his front.
"Why would I want to go?" Belle approached him again, taking the wine away from him and drinking from the bottle herself. She shook her head, devouring some of that gold, and simpered to him. "You never cease to amaze me."
There was honesty into her eyes, mixed with sympathy and melted sweetness. Feeling relieved of a heavy burden, Francis couldn't but smile back to her. "You know me, I'm a walking late-night show."
"The only bitch with hairy legs in town."
"Don't mess with my sexy legs, they could be skinnier than yours! If they only wanted, alright, but they could!"
"I bet he doesn't mind." Belle savvily concluded. "Say, this stain is eating up my dress, have you got something to combat it mercilessly?"
"I hope so. Belle, why don't you just give it to me? I'll wash it and bring it to you tomorrow - or later. And it's not like I won't lend you a shirt... It won't fit you, but you're not hitting the streets tonight, right?"
"Sure I am. But thanks to you, tonight all Paris will have to jack off- And all because I'm not waiting under a lamppost! See, you're a damn for your people." With the help of Francis, Belle succeed in taking off her dress, revealing her pink lingerie. Francis was his big bro, but having him in love with a man meant an even more dramatic fall in the possible-raper chart. "And tell me more about your new conquest. I mean, Arthur's not really the type of man that reacts positively to a declaration - Even worse if the knelt-down guy is you. What happened, then?" She handed in her dress and followed him into the corridor leading to the bathroom, where her piece of clothing would be splashed with a cascade of water and Marseille soap.
"Well, remember when I called you? We had just - just kissed."
"Really?"
"Yeah. The worst kiss in the history of kisses. And the best at the same time."
"Why, did something go wrong?"
"Not something, everything! Arthur was furious with me, Ludwig almost kicked me out of Scotland Yard and we were almost caught by Vash. Not to say I was-"
"Wait wait wait. Who is Vash and caught in the middle of what?"
"Ehu, you know Ludwig, Arthur's boss? Right. Remember that I told you about a girl, Lily? Vash is her brother, as well as one of Arthur's colleagues."
"Okay... Okay, I got it."
"And we were in the bathroom... doing things."
"You made love in a bathroom? But, wait... Wasn't he mad at you?"
"No, he was no more! And that was just some mild kissing, stupid."
"Quite lunatic, your lover, to change attitude in an hour's time."
Francis wringed out the dress and threw it among his coloured garments. Before going to sleep, he would charge the washing machine and make her do the dirty job. "He's not lunatic. Not too much."
"As you say. And now?"
"Now... Now we'll see. I shall call him in a couple of hours or so-" He entered his bedroom, leaving Belle at the door. No-one ever stepped into Francis' bedroom, independently of who he was. That was the only unsaid, passively-accepted rule of his house, a rule no-one refused to follow.
Grabbing the shirt he offered her, she abruptly asked. "Can I stay for the night?"
Francis blinked. "Why?"
"If you send me home, we'll be both alone for the next two hours, whereas if you say 'Yes, Belle, I'd love to have you here for the night!', we'll keep each other company. Sure, at midnight or so you'll call your lover and after that I shall make fun of you like no-one's ever made. And if that's not enough, let me say that we have to celebrate with something better than cigarettes..." Without hesitation, she showed a tightly-rolled joint ready to be smoked. "So?"
Francis sighed, not daring asking where she got that reefer from. "Is there any way to kick you out?"
"Of course not."
"I'll get the lighter."
"Pass me the lighter." Ordered Arthur, sat next to Ludwig in his pitch-black Mercedes. He would usually refuse a cigarette, but since the Frog decided to ignore him, he was ready to fill up his lungs with carbon monoxide. Did he die from cancer, Francis would have only himself to blame. He placed the filtered end gently in the centre of his mouth, far enough into his mouth to form an airtight seal but not far enough back where it will touch the wet part of his lips. Feeling it slipping, he drew them inwards slightly to hold it in place.
Ludwig stretched his arm out, holding up the lighter an inch away from the end of the tobacco stick. Bringing the flame almost to the tip of the cigarette, he waited until Arthur sucked on the cigarette in short bursts. "I'm not sure you should start with Lucky Strikes, Arthur..."
"Yet, I'm sure that's none of your business, Beilschmidt." Arthur breathed in the smoke, felt the air missing from his lungs, coughed loudly, cried and punched Ludwig. No-one was to giggle at him. "Fuck you an your bloody cigs." He mumbled in throwing the stick outside.
"Hey, you didn't even touch it!"
"Better off there than in your hands." Ludwig grumbled, Arthur smirked. "Ain't Vash coming tonight?"
"No. He said he preferred staying home yodelling than seeing 40-year-old brats arguing over a stinky pussy."
"Does he know one day he'll be also quarrelling over that same pussy?"
"Yeah, unless he sells his arse to the first scrawny fag there at the park!" Ludwig roared out a laugh. It was never nice to hear him cough off some amusement. On the contrary, it was absolutely terrifying.
"Yeah.." Francis isn't scrawny.. He's fat. So as to cover his grin, Arthur leaned on to reach for the radio. If there was something he had to avoid, was bringing up the issue. Yet, the idea of Francis' face at his comment was too amusing.
"What are you laughing at?"
"Nothing, nothing." I'm not fat! Francis worriedly looking at himself in the mirror, checking if there was any sign of flabbiness on his thighs was just ridiculously funny.
"It doesn't seem like nothing to me. C'me on, what's that?"
"Really, that's nothing. Just a stupid joke about a sexy guy obsessed with appearance."
"Seems fitting with the Frenchie you brought in this afternoon... Anyway, we're here. Will you get in and order? I'll park somewhere over there and walk up to you."
"Alright, see ya in." Arthur unbuckled his belt, got off the car and slammed the door closed. He immediately rushed to the pub, as the chilly air was not something he enjoyed particularly.
From the outside, the Red Lion didn't seem so impressive, but thanks to two giant windows, any outsider could admire what he was missing. It was always particularly lively there at the pub. The atmosphere was more relaxed than it usually was in most places and chatting with the guy next to you at the bar didn't seem awkward at all. The good warmth, well-mixed with the dimmed lights, created a general feeling of cosiness. Some would even say, that the pub was like a second home for them, the mates there being their beloved family and the bartender the neighbour they always wished to have. Hardly anyone did not left if even a small tip of some pound for the Old Gerry.
The Old Gerry, or Germania, was the owner of the pub. Having made his money by selling beer in the good old Saxony, he was said to be the most specialized barman in the area of Great London. A legend was handed down by word of mouth from a drunkard to another, affirming that the golden colour of his long hair was a side effect of his beer-based diet. No-one knew if that was true, but no-one really wanted to try.
"Good evening, Germania." Arthur smiled softly on approaching the bar. Quirking his brows at him, Germania advised he was coming for him, just after finishing serving some other costumers. Waiting for his turn to come with 10 pounds in his hand, Arthur admired the professionalism of the staff, respecting the queue even though it was invisible.
"Welcome back, son. You seem quite distressed, will some Brown Ale do for you?" Germania never asked how one was. He knew his costumers needed a beer, knowing which one was part of his job.
"Seems perfect, thank you. And, Germania, got any advice for Herr Beilschmidt?" Germania glanced at him with a savvy glimmer in his icy eyes, whilst pouring him his pint of ale.
"Franziskaner Kristallklar. Because my German needs some."
"Mh, you sure? Wouldn't some stout be better?"
"Arthur my son, stout is too creamy for your mate. Believe me, some good Franziskaner will make him perfectly happy."
"Alright, fill his glass up to the brim. Might some also suit your taste?" Handing in the money, Arthur caught a thankful glisten in Germania's cold eyes. There was nothing better than a beer to repay him for his efforts.
"There's a table over there, son. Quite in the shadows, just as you like it."
"Thank you, Germania. When you die, Saint Peter will make you the landlord of Heaven." Walking up to a small round table on the shadowed corner of the pub, Arthur made sure there was a seat for both him and Ludwig, who soon entered the local himself. Spotting him from the distance, he quickly stepped up to him, already savouring his blonde ale.
"Sorry for being late, but they're all hitting the pubs this night and there was no parking, were you to kill someone for it."
"It's alright, I haven't tasted my ale, yet. And Gerry got you some Franziskaner. If you're not up for it, drink it anyway. I bet your liver doesn't care what brand your beer is." Eventually, when Arthur was ready to stick his lips to the cold glass of his Newcastle Brown Ale, his mobile sent a vibration all along his thigh. Francis! Pulling it out quickly, he immediately pressed 'read', damned his phone for being so slow and had the text in front of his eyes.
*Stop being so kissable and I won't try to come hither. (I deserve an applause just for the hither!)*
Involuntary, a smile blossomed on Arthur's face. It was nice being called pet-names, but having him complimenting every now and then wasn't irritable at all. Still, he couldn't let him win so easily. Where had he been for the last 2 hours? No-no, he needed to learn his lesson. Arthur put his mobile back in his pocket, decided not to type anything, not till he got home. It was still to see who was the one waiting between them.
"Got some good news?"
"Huh?" Arthur was already regretting his decision, but he could not just act like a teenage girl in love, not in front of Ludwig. Burying his face behind his pint of ale, he guzzled down its smooth, mellow flavour. With his insides soaked up in alcohol, he was ready to regret his choice some more. He needed to write to Francis, he needed it like he needed beer.
"Arthur, are you okay?" Asked Ludwig worriedly after quaffing down the last half-pint.
"Yeah, I'm alright. It's just... I've been having weird thoughts, lately. Nothing serious, and yet-"
"Reorganise your thoughts while I buy us a second round. And please, don't faint while I'm not here." Getting his wallet from the pocket, Ludwig stood up and walked off to the bar.
"Don't worry. And Lud, will you get me some Mackenson? I need something strong." Arthur saw him nodding and approaching the landlord, just the right distance not to notice him take out his mobile and text his lover. "You would try to bed me anyway, for you're perverted in the head. And I see English is finally getting to you."
*Not English, but a certain Englishman who wouldn't mind a night with moi.*
Idiot. Swigging his beer, Arthur let his buds savour the sweet, fruity liquid, tasting every bubble flowing down his throat. Ludwig was still queuing. Good, he could reply without being inquired. "Poor chap, for he must be either very miserable or very desperate. In both cases, he's not completely right in the head." Because you ain't right in the head, are you, Artie? Arthur briefly gazed at his forearm. Under the long sleeve of his blue sweater, there was a new couple of cuts. He hadn't been touching a blade for a while, but had Francis texted on time, he would have waited patiently for his replies without taking to pieces his razor. But he didn't. He had to take his bloody sweet time, that jerk, and leave me alone in that bleeding cold house with all my stupid thoughts and all my stupid regrets and all my stupid fantasies about me and him and- Damn it!
"Here's your stout, Arthur." Ludwig placed his schooner in front of him, ignoring his high-strung face for a moment just to put his wallet back in place.
"Thanks." Arthur immediately drank up his previous seidel and attacking the new, boozing half of it down, not caring for the alcohol sousing his brain. Stupid Frog, stupid me, stupid addiction to this shit. "I hate life." He stated in violently smashing his schooner to the table, fortunately not breaking it.
"Kill yourself." Ludwig simply replied on supping from his glass.
"Why, to give my body to worms? Thanks, I'd rather have them starving for another couple of months."
"Worm-killer, that's what you are. Any vegetarian would've already sued you for that, and he would be right."
"No-one's right, we just make 'em believe so."
"So, murdering is right?"
"Nah, that's just a way to eliminate some asshole from the face of Earth."
"What if he's innocent?"
"No-one's innocent. Listen up, now. Do you think that's fair one can't kill himself without breaking the law? I mean, if you want to quit life, you should be allowed to do it. But no, suicide is self-murder, and since murder is a crime, every suicide is a criminal. To me, those are just outcasts..." Arthur rolled the glass in his hand. The caramel-coloured beer shifted from side to side, glistening under the lights. A new text came, but it was better to ignore it for the time being.
"To me, those are no more that 50-pound fines. C'me on, Art, think of it: if everyone was allowed to quit, who would make us stay here? If I could say Goodbye to my life, don't you think I'd have already done that? And yet, I keep on struggling, suffering, getting mad at my dearest ones for stupid things - all because I'm too full of beer, smoke and myself. Be you brave or vile, you have to face life."
Arthur smirked, offering his glass for a toast. "To Life, the only whore that robs us all of our virginity.."
"..'cause she fucks all in the end. Cheers!"
"And that's the end." Concluded Francis, driving his eyes from his bare feet to the girl sitting next to him on the bed. In the blueish darkness of the guest-room, the indistinct shapes of her body got rounder under the whiteness of his baggy shirt. They preferred to have only the small lamp on the bedside table on, hiding in the shades among those sky-coloured walls like stinky, thrifty rats. A purplish cloud floated above them, threatening to cry acid rain on their heads.
Belle sluggishly added some smoke to it, tilting her head to the ceiling pensively. She drew in another puff, relished its taste and simpered idiotically. "You should denounce Miss Fortune for stalking."
Stroking the palm of her hand with cement attention, he upturned the corner of his mouth slightly. "I'd rather kick her in the stomach over and over till I see the blood flooding down her mouth. And then, I would kiss her and say 'See how much it hurts? See? No, you cannot see, 'cause you've had no love, no hate, nothing, no-one to take care for living on the other fuckin' side of the coast.' And then I would break her skull against the pavement, just because."
"Hostel 5 - How to kill time."
"More or less. Still, I'm sure I'd make clones of her, just to have my fun slaughtering 'em all one by one. The original should die because she had me fall for my best friend, the best clone because she had him living 67 bloody kilometres away from me, the second best one because not only we have cultural barriers and a fuckin' long distance to cope with, but also a freaking' twisted history together - I mean, it's not only Arthur and Francis here. It's England and France we're talking about. When we were kids, Maman didn't even want him at dinner, 'cause he was too English for her!"
"Terrible."
"Yeah. And him being a cop? I can't believe my father refused to sit next to him at my wed-" My wedding. Francis suddenly turned silent, took a drag on his joint and expelled the smoke slowly and thoughtfully.
Belle wallowed to his side, drawing an arm upon his chest. Nuzzling on his shoulder, she stroked his skin with her cheek, mewling appreciatively. "Big Bro, you never told me a thing about your wedding. I bet it was grand - something that a Prince would envy."
Francis sighed, smoothing down her hair with long strokes. "Not really. Actually, I would've loved to give a hand organising it, but J..." A breath, his tongue moistening his lips, the past becoming nothing more than the past. "Jeanne wanted to have all under control. I-I never quite get why she insisted so much to celebrate it in a corn field. She said that was her dream: to get married in a corn field, and so I said 'Alright, no-one's going to die from kernel poisoning, let's just do it'."
"What a good husband..."
"I tried to be so. I mean, I loved her! How couldn't I try my best to make her happy? But lights, music, dresses,... She even chose my suit herself, saying it had to match her bouquet - or whatever was that lavender waterfall flooding out that giant pearly shell. Can you believe she sent out the invitations without telling me? I mean, it's not like I didn't want her to arrange our wedding, but it seemed as it was only her own! Alright, I get it, you wanna have your princess-like celebration and live in a dream for that one day, but Hell, how much did it cost her to ask for my opinion?"
Belle frowned, raising her head to look into Francis' face. Was his marriage happy for real?
"She wanted to celebrate it in a Church - we did it. I did not fancy the idea of promising God I would eternally love her - you never know with God - but we did it. We signed the papers, we made all that was to be made, but she still left me out of all. I wanted to get her a golden ring with a heart-shaped diamond and she got home one day with our marriage rings already bought. I wanted my suit to have a lily-pin right in front of my heart and she said it would not match my shoes. 'I'll get a new pair' I said, but no, they were the exact shade of white and couldn't be swapped for anything in the world! She chose the wine herself, perfectly knowing she was hopeless at selecting it; she chose the decorations, complaining on the pinkness of the curtains she herself had asked for; she decided the seats herself, failing miserably at it - no wonder I spent half ceremony leading HER invitees to different chairs. But that was nothing, nothing compared to her own decision to refuse inviting Arthur to the party. Thank God he called me, or I would've never known."
"Big Bro?"
"You don't like him? Okay, fine! But since he is MY best friend, like it or not, he's gonna be there when I marry you and pretend everything's ok when it's actually not!"
Francis sucked in a long mouthful of air, sighing it out in a long, loud breath. He felt better - incredibly better. It was like Hulk had removed a enormous rock from his chest. Oxygen, finally! Oxygen and smog! Belle smiled, tapping his nose. "Feel better now, Big Bro?"
Francis nodded eagerly on smiling back. "You can't even imagine!"
Resting her head on his pectus, she enjoyed the tender cuddles his warm hands offered her. "I thought you were happy with her.." She stated casually, puffing in some weed.
"But I was happy with her. It's just that.. I don't know. I've always thought she was the right one for me. Gracious, respectable, as beautiful as Venus. Not particularly wealthy, but a serious hard-worker. She even won some scholarships back then... You see, it was the kind of woman that would never let her life slip from her hands. So... She needed a boy, I needed a girl and we got together."
"But you didn't love her."
"No, no, that's not true. I loved her, I really did. I would've done anything to make her smile. When I proposed to her, I was sure that was the right choice, that that was the first step of the stair of Happiness. But now, coming to think of it, I'm not so certain that if this- this situation, this thing going on with Arthur had happened before, I would've walked up to that altar." Francis stopped, placing the joint right between his lips. "No, I'm not so sure any more.."
"Thank you, Ludwig, but you really shouldn't have left your car. It's chilly out here and my house isn't that warm." Said Arthur in turning the keys in the lock. Ludwig was right behind him, waiting for him to open the door. From the distance, one could spot his blonde head floating above his dark uniform , even though the night was pitch-dark and many lights had already been turned out.
"You might've fallen on your way back. If nothing, I would've sat there next to you."
"How kind." Arthur opened the door for the both of them, pleading he would not step in. Yet, he did. "May I offer you some tea? Or you'd rather have a last beer?"
"Tell me you've got coffee. Lie, if you must, but tell me you have some."
"Let me see..." Arthur swiftly dashed to the kitchen, pretending to open some drawers. Seeing a forgotten jar of half-full soluble coffee, he hid it in the freezer before replying aloud. "We're sorry, Herr Beilschmidt, but the coffee supply hasn't arrived yet. Are you sure you would not like some tea?"
"Arthur, I'd rather lick water from a dog-bowl that have a cup of that shit."
"Your order is my command, mein Herr." Stretching his arm out to get a small bowl, he filled it up with tap water and carried it to Ludwig, waiting in the living room. "Here you are, mein Fuhrer. Pure tap water from my own personal sink. You won't taste any other with the same amount of calcium and nitrites and-"
"Arthur, go to hell." Ludwig placed the bowl on the table before marching towards the front door. If Arthur was not going to let him in, there was no point in forcing him to enjoy his company. When he was right outside the door, he turned to pat his head fatherly. "If anything happens, give a call, will you?"
Arthur frowned, disliking the little attention Ludwig was directing to him. "You know I won't." He remarked in shuffling his hand away.
"As you say. Take care. Bye."
"Bye." Arthur repeated in waving at him, watching him fade into the night. Once the engine of his car had roared, he was sure Ludwig had taken his leave, so he entered his house again. He got rid of his shoes and climbed the stairs, heading to his room. Without glancing to Alfred's room, he walked directly towards his bed and dived into its blankets. Having his heated-up face refreshed by their coldness, he dragged himself up to rest his face on a pillow.
Reaching down with his hand, he fished his mobile out of his pocket and checked the time. 11.02 PM. Neither too early, nor too late. He might even gain some hours of sleep. And then there was Francis' text there, waiting for a reply..
*Sane or not, I can't but love you.*
Arthur let his mobile drop from his hand, burying his face even deeper in the mattress. He loves me. Yeah, but how long will it last? A day, a week, a month? He loves me, but will his love last? Will my love last? Swallowing, he lifted himself up on his elbows. Around him obscurity was eating up his room, munching on his bed, on his feet, on his skin. He could feel the darkness in his skin, soaking him like dirty water, spattering his face with its black mud. He needed to call Francis.
As soon as his mobile rung, Francis jumped out the bed and ran out of the room. "Say hello from me!" Said Belle, gliding under the blankets in waiting. In the morning, she would be ready to shoot questions at him. Lots, thousands of questions. But for now, she was only ready for bed.
"Hey, wasn't I supposed to call you?" Francis answered in closing the door of his room right behind him, quickly rushing to his bed.
*I decided otherwise. You would not know when I got back, after all, and how would I know if you were asleep or not?*
"Crystal ball?"
*Worse, Dragon balls.*
"I would not waste those 3 wishes."
*Git. How are you?*
Having turned the small lamp on, Francis made himself comfortable by placing a pillow behind his head. Seeing his figure reflected in the giant mirror in front of his bed, he noticed a smile flourishing on his lips. Art, that's for you. "Not bad. Half-naked on a bed, talking to my lover. I kinda feel like this scene misses some action, but it's gaining 'romance'-points second by second."
*Oh, no. Let's stop the romance before it spreads!*
"You can't! That's contagious!"
*Nooooo! I don't wanna blush at compliments!*
"But you will! Your heart will pump all blood to your cheeks and turn them shiny red! Ah-ah!"
*Bloody heart, it should pump its blood somewhere else.*
"Something lower?"
*Brain. Know what is it?*
"Is it edible?"
*Not really, but you can squish it pretty easily.* Arthur turned to face the ceiling. Not that there was much to see in the dark, but that position was easier to get rid of his trousers.
"Arthur, are you struggling with a wrestler? There's a funny background noise.."
*These bleeding trousers are glued to my skin - Dammit!* Francis attentively listened through all the ruckus, picturing the scene in front of his eyes. Arthur, in the dark, rubbing his legs one against the other- Too vulgar! Arthur, in the dark, reaching down to unzip his trousers and- Francis! Arthur, in the dark,- *Okay. Okay, I got rid of them. Hooray for me. Wo-oh.* -with only his pants on. "I'm having bad thoughts, but if I voiced them, you would cut the conversation."
*Great, keep 'em for yourself.*
"All of them?"
*Why, d'you think I'd care to listen?*
"Dunno, actually. Maybe. I would like to listen to your thoughts."
*One thing are thoughts, Fran, another sexual fantasies.*
"Whatever they were, I'd listen."
*For real?*
"Of course. Why I wouldn't?"
*I don't know. My thoughts ain't this interesting.. And surely, I don't want you to get bored!*
"You can't bore me out. Unless you repeat me the same stuff over and over and over and over and over and over and over-"
*Fuck, it's broken. Where did I put the hammer?*
"-and over and over and over."
*And over.*
"That's right. Still, I'd rather have you sharing your doubts than being left ignorant of the mess swirling in your head."
*Mhm.. Okay. If you say so.. Then, can I ask you something?*
"Sure you can." What is he going to ask me? Francis was now resting his head on his bent arm, fearing Arthur's next move. It wasn't easy to speak on the phone, since all you could do was imagining what the other might be doing. There was this weak shield between you two, that was less useful than a thin piece of paper. And yet, this device was all they had to hear from each other.
*Francis, be honest. Do you really believe this is going to last?*
Francis blinked, swallowed, munched on his lip passing a hand through his hair. "Honestly?"
*Honestly.*
"I want it to last. Now, I can't say anything about the future, but I know something about the present. In my present, there is you. You carved a small tunnel inside my head and booked a large room in my heart. Now, not that I complain, but you could've asked for the keys before forcing the door."
Arthur laughed briefly. *Thank you.*
"What about you? Do you want it to last?"
On the other side of the phone, silence could be heard. Arthur took his time to skim though all the memories of the day, but he eventually found his answer. *I still have my doubts. It's partly because that's something new for me. I mean, it's not like I've had many men in my life.. Not in this way, at least. Anyway. For the rest, I... I've never been very successful with women. Now, this might sound like a valid point for you, but to me, that only means I'm hopeless as a lover. Alright, we both had a ring on our fingers, but mine is somewhere in the river Thames and yours, only you know where it is. Not to say that you were in love with your wife, so... I'm sorry to say this, but if you're seeking for someone to replace her, please, rub me out of the list. And, if I want it to last... I don't know. Seriously, I don't know if I want it to last. I like having you round and, sincerely, I know I miss you, I miss you terribly when you're not here. And... And I want you, I want you here, I want another kiss. I want to love you, but... But I don't know how.*
Staring blankly at the ceiling, Francis felt bliss building up in his body. His heart was so full of joy, that he could feel his blood rushing from his brain to his feet in no time. He wanted to cry, to scream, he needed Arthur in his arms. For a moment, the idea of getting back to England crept into his brain, but his happiness did not give him the time to think. He smiled stupidly, tilting his head from side to side, thinking back to all the words Arthur had said.
*...Francis?*
Raising his eyebrows, Francis simply commented. "You melted my heart."
*Oh, Fuck. I shall never ever open my heart to you again.*
"No! Just... Thanks. That was- That was incredible. I hope someone's intercepting us, 'cause I want the audio-tape."
*I hope not! Hell, I've just flushed my pride down a toilet!*
"Check if it's not clogged! I wouldn't like you to die in such a dignified way.."
*What a wanker. No, that's not, thank you very much. And... Fran?*
"Yes, Art?"
*...Are you still in bed?*
"Yes, of course. It's not like I set off for America or anything."
*Mhm. Are you naked?*
Arthur? "No. No, not completely. I still have my jeans on."
*Will you- Will you take 'em off?*
Arthur, I love you. "Alright. But only if you do the same." Placing his mobile on the bedpost, he reached down to unbutton his jeans. He also tried to make the zip screech the loudest possible, but apparently, he only owned silenced zips. "Done."
*O-Okay. And...*
"Do you still have your shirt on?"
*Huh? No. No, I've just taken it off... Along with everything else.*
"Arthur?"
*..Yes, Francis?*
"Close your eyes."
Arthur never though much of sex on the phone. Still, he found himself panting as soon as Francis' hissed French overcame the barriers of his ears to voluptuously snake into his brain. To his surprise, his sweet orders got his hands to glide down his sides, shifting between his thighs, scratching his skin right up to his navel. He did not try to fight, too aroused to struggle back, too amused to stop his fun.
He replied without thinking, describing the scene as it played in his mind. He would ask Francis to touch his neck with his knuckles, travel down to his chest, pinch his nipples to get them hard and gently kiss, lick, suck his body as if it was fresh water. He craved for his slink touch as much as he needed those fiery words, inflaming his insides with their dirty sensuality.
The lewd sensation of his lustful hands sliding down his hips, his steamy breathing between his thighs, the sultry bites, the marks, the sex. Je t'aime - I love you They chanted to each other, desperately munching on their lips at every lecherous wave of arousal.
Smoothly skittering underneath his pants, Arthur let Francis guide his frenzied movements. Starting with long, slow strokes, Arthur soon needed to lustfully clench the bed-sheets, wantonly pumping and pleading for more. Still, Francis conducted him carefully, whispering amorous words into his ears, till he eventually led him into the intensity of an orgasm.
Gasping for air, Arthur felt is whole body throbbing with excitement. He had nothing to add, just a few more pants and a murmured I love you, bastard. Francis touched his lips, purple and swollen under his pads and still bleeding for the bites. He smiled through his pain, knowing those scars were well-deserved, for he hadn't left Arthur hanging, nor woken up Belle sleeping. Resting his head on his pillow, he softly whispered. "Sleep tight into my arms, mon amour. I'm kissing your mouth, lulling you until slumber comes. Je t'aime."
-End ch. 20
Zanteh's back!
Firstly: THANK YOU for reading, commenting and wishing me good luck. It worked! *Zanteh graduated with 95/100 :D * Not that I wouldn't appreciate some more support xD Also, I thank everyone and everything I quoted in this story, from DBZ to the Marmite commecial, from the different types of ale to weed.
Secondly: HOORAY for Mello18, our 100th reader! I tried to make your request the more IC possible... in the next Chapter. This story started on Wednesday, now it is Thursday and the last day before they see each other is tomorrow, Friday. You see, this chapter turned out INCREDIBLY LONG (satisfied, afairyprincessinapunkrockbank?), so it would've damaged your eyes to read some more.. Yet, I did my best to add more Francis-salt to the story :)
Thirdly: Let's see who's the first guessing who the hostess is. :D (The surname is a hint!)
Fourthly: There is a reason why Francis & Belle speak English: most of the readers are non-French speaking people. Therefore:
Je suis terriblement désolée, mes chers quant hypocrites lecteurs, mais pas seulement la langue des Rosbifs c'est la seule que tout le monde réussi à comprendre, il faut dire aussi que la plupart des Francophones a encore du mal à se débrouiller avec la grammaire. Pour ces raisons-ci, je vous demande pardon.