Chapter Five: Dead Man Hanging

A/N: And we FINALLY get to some smut… = D Thanks to those who patiently waited.

A/N2: In the 18th century there was no "lunch". Lunch was referred to as "dinner" and was usually the heaviest meal of the day. If something there was an evening meal it was referred to as "supper" because it usually consisted of soup. This is why Francis suggests he and Arthur have "dinner" instead of "lunch" during the mid-day.

Also, I apologize in advance for all the end notes...

Arthur and Francis stood shoulder to shoulder amidst a prodigious crowd. Thousands had come to see the infamous thief-taker, Jonathan Wild, be put to death on the gallows at Tyburn. As the prisoner approached, drawn in a wooden cage, the mob started jeering and hurling insults. There was not a single sympathetic person there.

Tyburn was located just outside the city of London and was accessible by taking Oxford Street. It was the street Francis and Arthur took to the hanging, and would be the one they took home. It was from that street that the dead man was coming from.

Arthur and his companion had gotten to the area rather early and were able to get close to the hanging platform. It was common for tickets to be sold (since hangings were such a strong attraction) for the best vantage point, and Arthur had to pool as much money together as he could to get close enough to see the execution. The Brit did not want to be too close however, less the eyes of the criminal find his. It would cause him too much pain to think he brought about the death of someone, even though that person deserved it.

As Wild's carriage approached the platform Arthur could see blood running down his face. No doubt the mobs back in the city pelted him with stones and other sharp objects as he travelled from Newgate Prison to the site of his execution. Despite the harsh treatment he maintained his composure. He was able to stand taller than the guards serving over him, who looked worried and flustered over the unusually harsh verbal insults being generated at the convicted felon.

Unlike the other men condemned to die with him, he was not tied up. He sat in the cart listening to the crowd slander him while the guards waited for the minister to arrive to perform last rites.

When the minister arrived and the rites read the men were given time to speak before their deaths. They went in turn, given speeches before they hanged and Wild was the last of the four.

As the body of the man before him, a highwayman accused of stealing precious goods and money from a Londoner as he walked the King's highway, was taken down and the rope readjusted, Wild was given the chance to speak. During his speech he pleaded for life one second, and then laughed spontaneously the next.

Francis glanced over at Arthur and nudged him, "What is wrong with him?"

"I don't know." Arthur looked at his mate sincerely.

"I can tell you why."

Arthur and Francis whirled around to see Jackson Parley behind them, "He tried to drug himself. Drank a whole bottle of laudanum but it was too much for his stomach so he spit it out. It still managed to mess him up pretty bad. He's insane now. Better for him I guess, since he'll hardly notice he's dead."

"So he really is a coward then." Francis said sternly, nearly in disgust.

Parley raised an eyebrow, "Fancy accent you have there, friend. Pray, where are you from?"

Francis' eyes shot open in surprise. He wasn't expecting anyone to ask such a question. He looked over to Arthur, but the Londoner had no answers for him. He decided he'd simply have to tell the truth, "I'm from Paris."

"A Frenchman…" Parley said with a hint of concern, "Well, that's rather unusual. You do know our countries have no tolerance for each other, do you not?"

Francis rolled his eyes, "Yes, yes, I've been told that many times now."

Parley turned and stared at Arthur, "I didn't know you fancied the French."

Arthur frowned, "It's really a long story."

"Ah," Jackson grinned, "You'll have to delight us with it one day. By 'us' I mean the Society of course."

It was Francis' turn to raise a brow, "Society? What Society?"

Arthur was now caught between a rock and a hard place. How would he go about explaining to Francis that he was a member, albeit a forced one, of a society that targeted homosexuals and other delinquents?

"So," Parley interrupted, "Arthur hasn't told you about us? We're a type of…police force that hunts down the most dangerous offenders of London."

"That's good." Francis nodded, "Like these Bow Street Runners I'm hearing of."

"I suppose," Parley said, "But we hardly associate with them."

"And what kind of criminals are you hunting that are so dangerous? Murders? Thieves…?"

"And sodomites." Parley finished.

Francis stared blankly, as if he wasn't affected at all, "Yes, God forbid someone does not live up to their biblical expectations."

Parley grinned and tilted his hat, agreeing quietly slyly with the Frenchman.

The deadlock stare between the two closed when the crowd erupted into cheers. Looking back to the stage the floor had been dropped beneath Wild and he was struggling as the rope tightened around his neck.

"Well then," Parley spoke up, "I simply came here to see justice done. I'll be going now."

Arthur, who had been quiet and timid up until this point, questioned the young man, "You're not staying to see him die?"

"No need," Parley waved with a flick of his wrist, walking away, "I've seen all that I need to."

Turning their attention back to the hanging, Arthur and Francis watched Wild's face turn blue as his air was cut off. His wiggled around relentlessly as if he could break free if he tried hard enough. It was several minutes before he finally hung there, silent and still.

Arthur took a deep breath and looked up at Francis.

"Would you like to get some dinner?" The Frenchman smiled.

Arthur sighed with exasperation, "How can you even discuss dinner after what you saw?"

The Frenchman shrugged, "I don't know. I'm hungry. Why don't we get something to eat then take a stroll in one of your parks?"

)()()()()()()()()(

After dinner the two Europeans stopped in at their flat so Francis could grab one of his work-in-progress books to read to Arthur at the park.

They travelled down Drury Lane, making their way to St. James Park, Arthur's favourite place to relax. When they got there Francis raced ahead and picked out a tree to sit under. It was in a mostly grassy area far enough away from the path to avoid any unwanted eavesdroppers.

The Frenchman crashed down, leaning his back against the tree. He let out a deep breath through his nostrils before taking the blue covered book from his bag. He patted the grass in front of him, motioning Arthur to sit.

The Londoner hesitated for a moment then sat down, "I can't believe I'm doing this."

"It's fine, Artur!" Francis smiled, "You can't say it's bad if you haven't heard it yet. But when I'm done please give me some constructive criticism."

"I hear the English are good at writing," Francis added, then stalled momentarily, "The function of writing I mean. Like grammar."

Arthur narrowed his brows, "Are you saying Englishmen can't write a decent story?"

Bonnefoy grinned cheekily, "That's exactly what I'm saying. Now listen,"

Francis opened the book. He flipped through the pages looking for something in particular. The action made Arthur shudder, worrying that the Frenchman was going to jump straight to the sexual intercourse scenes.

"Ok, found it." The blue eyed man pointed his finger at the sentence he wanted to start at.

Jacque climbed the staircase to Madame Cécile's bedroom. She had been locked in there for several days by her parents. The young woman, a mere few days away from her eighteenth birthday, had confessed her love at a public ball for Jacque, whom her parents despised, and they were determined to keep him from her. He reached the door to open it, finding it sealed. With the desperation to hold the delicate brunette in his arms he kicked at the door repeatedly. After a few kicks a quiet, whisper flowed through the cracks.

"Jacque, c'est toi?"

"Oui!" He responded, his heart fluttering. His enthusiasm turned to rage and fear when he heard the muffled voice of another. A guard perhaps?

"Cécile, est-qui dans la salle avec toi?"

No sound came from the other side of the door.

A moment went by before a sharp pain of fear crawled down Jacque's spine. He mustered up all his strength and kicked down the door.

His suspicions had been correct. There was a paid personnel inside the room. It was a servant boy. In his hand was a dagger covered in a thick red liquid, and on the floor his precious Cécile, blood pouring out of her neck.

Arthur frowned seeing a few tears drop from Francis' eyes, "Why is this part so important to you?"

"I feel so much pain for them, you know?"

"Why?" Arthur asked confusingly agitated, "They're just characters. They're not real."

"No," Francis gave him a soft look, "But somewhere out there, there are probably people who are living like this."

Kirkland rolled his eyes.

"Je m'excuse, was there something in particular that you wanted to hear?"

Arthur stared at him, confused.

"You wanted to hear a sex scene, right? Something along the lines of sodomy?"

The Brit's cheeks flushed red, "Uh….n-no! How about…a fighting scene! Yes! Do you have one of those?"

Francis laughed, "I don't have any sodomy in this book, mon cher. Only love between men and women. We do write about that too, you know."

Arthur frowned, "What did you call me?"

"Pardon?"

"You said 'mon chere'…what does that mean?"

"Oh," Francis suddenly came to the realization of his words, "It means 'my dear'. Do you have a problem with this?"

Arthur crossed his arms, "Well obviously, since I'm not your dear."

"I can make something up for you on the spot," The Frenchman laughed, ignoring Arthur's distaste.

"What do you mean?" The emerald eyed Brit asked quizzically.

Francis gave a sly grin, "I can make up a story about two male lovers if you'd like."

Arthur gulped. The look on the Parisian's face was rather seducing and it sent a jolt of excitement through his chest. Before he could even comprehend what he was saying he staggered out an, "O-okay."

"Hmmmm," the other pondered, "What should I say…oh! There are two young men in this story…they are formally enemies but because of an unfortunate incident have become friends, okay?"

"Alright," Arthur wasn't sure he liked the uncanny similarities but went along with it anyway.

George stared at his captures harshly as they interrogated him for information about his king and army. He refused to utter a word knowing he'd be killed either way. It was better to die with vital secrets then to be soulfully responsible for the destruction of his kingdom.

"They're French, aren't they?"

Francis stopped telling his story to look at Arthur. He smiled, "How did you know?"

Arthur gave him a sarcastic glare, "Lucky guess…"

The French soldiers shrugged giving up for now to have some dinner. After they had exited and disappeared out of sight an attractive Frenchman –

"Is George attractive?"

"Hm?" Francis snapped out of his concentration, "Oh, sure."

"What do you mean, 'Oh, sure.'!" Arthur yelled, infuriated.

"I mean," the Parisian reached over to stroke the cheek of his English friend, "he was beautiful."

Kirkland swatted the hand away, blushing hard, eyes wide open, "You fool! The people on the path may not be able to hear us, but they can definitely see us! Watch yourself!"

Francis pulled his hand back, unfazed and continued with his story.

…An attractive Frenchman appeared. He untied the Englishman who he had become fond of over the last few months, and led him, hand-in-hand, out the slit of the tent. The sun was quickly setting allowing them to escape in the darkness. When they finally got far enough away from the authorities the Englishman stopped.

"Louis, why are you helping me?"

"Because," Louis turned around and cupped the man's face with his hands, "I could not bear to see anything happen to you, mon amour!"

The Englishman blushed and took a step backwards. His feelings were battling each other inside him. He placed his hands on those of the Frenchman and peered into the other's soft blue eyes. "I…don't know if I understand."

Louis inched closer, "Then let me help you understand."

Louis gently pulled George's face closer to his, pushing their lips together softly. The touch made the Englishman shiver as he pulled his hands off of Louis'.

Not being able to hold back his desire, Louis pushed between the lips of the Englishman, grazing against George's tongue.

Arthur continued to listen in shock. His face was fully red now, "Y-you know this could be considered treason, right?"

"Why is that?" Francis stopped to ask.

"Well for one, you're using the names of our kings."

The Parisian laughed, "Oh, am I? What a coincidence!"

"Hardly," The Brit muttered quietly to himself. He still craved the details between the two characters, and skillfully encouraged Francis to continue without drawing attention to his want for more. "But change their names, please."

Francis sighed but accepted the request, "Edward moaned as Pierre rubbed the bulge in his pants."

The two were out of view, tucked away in a crease inside a giant bolder.

"Pierre, this is dangerous. If we get caught…"

"It is also dangerous if we do not do this!" The Frenchman argued, "If we do not share these feelings now it will haunt us forever."

Edward hated to admit it, but this would very well be the last time he'd ever see the young blond he'd grown to love. He timidly placed a hand over the rapidly moving hand of his lover.

Pierre moved on to sucking and biting the neck of his counterpart. His blood pumped faster at all the little noises Edward made. He took the hand that had been rubbing the Englishman's pants and carefully slid it down his partner's trousers, grabbing a hold of the cock inside. He drove his hand up and down, swirling his thumb over the tip.

Edward sighed aloud at the cool touch, his skin twitching with pleasure. He could barely comprehend what was happening to him only that it felt incredibly good.

Pierre kneelt down pulling Edward's trousers down with him. He looked up into the shinning green eyes of the Englishman before licking the tip of his cock.

"P-Pierre…" Edward whispered, brushing his hands through the Frenchman's silky hair.

Pierre responded to the call by swallowing the young man's dick, taking it all in.

Every inch of skin on the Brit was getting hotter as Francis continued to describe the scene of wild passion between the two characters. He felt himself getting harder between his legs and his breath was reduced to inaudible pants. A figure moved in the corner of his eye on the distant path, causing him to jump.

"Gonson!"

Francis stopped to look in the direction Arthur was. He looked back to see a wave of relief over the Englishman.

Arthur had mistaken another person for the leader of the Society for Reformation of Manners. However, the mistake gave him reason to end the literature talk and head home. The two were putting themselves in danger by staying at the park discussing such taboo things.

)()()()()()()()()()(

"It's really too bad we could not have stayed longer," Francis sighed standing on the step outside the building holding Arthur's flat. The courtyard where it was located was empty, "I was really getting into that story. I should write it down."

Arthur flinched, giving a look of uneasiness, "Well…I don't think anyone would publish it so, there's really no point."

Francis looked sad, "Why not?"

"Well," The Englishman reasoned, "because it's sodomy. It's illegal."

Francis frowned in disappointment, "I suppose you are right, Artur. It's too bad though. It was a good story. Don't you think?"

"Uh…" Arthur had been caught off guard. He didn't know how to respond to the question, "Well…if you mean your storytelling abilities…I'd say they're fine."

"That's not what I meant." Francis stared at him, "You know what I meant."

Arthur blushed, "I…have no comment on that."

Francis took the blush as a sign that somewhere deep inside Arthur must have enjoyed his sensual tale.

"L-listen," Arthur looked up into the eyes of the Parisian, "I think…maybe…you should consider going to the French ambassador and staying there."

It was now Francis' turn to be caught off guard. He thought he and Arthur had been having a good time together. Why the sudden change?

"It's nothing personal," The Brit explained, "it's just…"

Francis' narrowed his brows, "Are you afraid of me? You don't like me anymore because of who I am?"

"No!" Arthur shot at him, "I just…I can't…if anything happens to you I can't prote- I can't do anything for you. You're French and a sodomite! They'll destroy you!"

"By they do you happen to mean the Society you and that Godon were talking about?"

"His name isn't Gordon, it's Jackson Parley, and yes that's what I'm worried about."

Francis blinked, "A Godon is someone who is damned or…never mind."

"Look," Arthur continued on, "This whole thing was a mistake anyway. I don't know what I was even thinking inviting you to live with –"

Before Arthur could finish his face was confined between the warm hands of the Frenchman and his lips were pressed into a tender kiss. An alarming pain of fear swept through the Englishman. This sensation was new to him.

"I don't want to leave you, Artur." Francis looked sadly at the blond, scruffy haired Brit.

Arthur was speechless. He stared into the beautiful blue eyes of his familiar and found himself feeling the same despair. He looked away, trying to ignore and forget the action of the Frenchman, "Ok…but…the moment they suspect anything, you must leave!"

The Frenchman sparkled with joy, "Oui! I understand, but I do not think that will happen."

Arthur sighed at the naivety of the Parisian. Gossip spread fast in the streets of London. Even the slightest bit of unusual behaviour warranted the suspicions of others.

Francis opened the door and took Arthur's hand, leading him inside.

As the door closed behind them a mysterious figure, hiding behind a courtyard wall with a luscious garden in front of it, smirked. He now had all the proof he needed…

End Notes:
~Yes, Wild really did try to poison himself IRL.
~Daniel Defoe, a journalist, recorded that a huge crowd, presumably thousands, showed up for Wild's hanging. Back in the day, you had to pay a fee to see a man or woman hanged at the gallows. The city made good money that way!
~I didn't find anything that would suggest the Bow Street Runners (under Henry Fielding) had any connection to the Society for Reformation of Manners.
~It was mentioned a few chapters ago but Francis is part of a literary movement called "La Libertine". They were a group of French writers who wrote sexual fantasies or erotic novels. Most novels were heterosexual.
~The King of Great Britain at the time was King George I (1st) [It should be noted that a transition due to the passing of the King was happening in 1727 from King George I to his son King George II (2nd)] and the King of France was the infamous King Louis XIV (14th), AKA "the Sun King".

Translations:
~"Jacque, c'est toi?" - Jacque, is that you?
~"Cécile, est-qui dans la salle avec toi?" - Cécile, who is in the room with you?
~Je m'excuse - Excuse me.
~mon cher* - my dear/darling (friend)

*Admittedly, I've always been frustrated because I had long believed "cheri" was used for a woman and "cher" for a man, but having dug deep into the topic I found that:
Mon Cher – used for a male friend. General platonic love/liking of someone.
Mon Cheri – used for a male you are in love with.
Mon Chère – used for a woman, again non-sexual love.
Mon Chèrie – used for a woman you are in love with.

They're all pronounced the same with the exception of the first…It's just "Cher" …like the singer.

LASTLY:

Visit the Toronto Zoo website! A new polar bear was born there and needs a name! I've already submitted Kumajirou, but perhaps the more people who request the name, the more likely it'll be chosen.