Author notes: Finally! An update! I have been busy with a lot of things so I hope this chapter came out all right. It's not particularly the best but I've tried to write it well. I've been inspired by many things and ideas when I was scrolling down my tumblr dash as well as consulting with my dearest friend, so the end result was that this chapter had taken a turn which strayed away from my original plan. But then again, I think it was better it became like this.
Thank you for reading, reviewing and putting this story under favourites and alerts, everyone! As always, thank you Dee or rollofthepenguins for proofreading!
Disclaimer: I do not own Axis Powers Hetalia nor do I possess the brilliance behind Bridget Jones's Diary.
The Brit Luck
a USUK story
By suikalopolis
One collision was all it took and his mind was hurled all the way back to that one memory, to that one and only Christmas reunion. To the sea of faces. To the nine flutes of champagne. To that one exceptionally, extraordinarily, exquisitely rude American who wore a too small jumper with a decisively hideous alien motif.
If Arthur was to measure out the chances of meeting that man once more, he would have said that it was very, very, very slim because really, London was massive. What were the chances of bumping into that one particular man in the metropolis?
And yet, against all odds, here he was. That same man whom he had never wanted to meet again, standing in the flesh before him.
His heart stopped for one, two heartbeats and Arthur felt as if the carpet had been tugged from under his feet as he stumbled back a few steps and stared at the man, slack-jawed.
"You…what the fuck are you doing here?" he breathed.
"Well, I'll be damned." Those bright blue, blue eyes lit up and 'Alvin' was grinning very, very widely at him. "Howdy there, Austin. It's been a while."
Indeed it had been a while. In fact, it hadn't even reached one week to be exact. Of all times, why now? Arthur scowled at him and upon noticing the approximate space of two, three, four steps between them, he took a big step back to establish the comfortable distance between them. "Austin?" he echoed incredulously before huffing with his arms crossed in displeasure. "If I recall correctly, Alvin, I am pretty certain that my name is Arthur and not Austin."
"Yeah? Well, I ain't no Alvin neither. The name's always been Alfred F. Jones but y'know, if that's kinda hard to remember then I guess we'd have to settle with Al then," the American said with a wink. "Y'see, it's usually the ladies who call me by that name but I'll make an exception with you since you still got them cool caterpillars up there."
Arthur sputtered and he gawked at Alfred who was looking increasingly entertained by the fact that he was turning red in a span of a few short seconds. "Excuse me?"
"There you are. I was looking for you."
A small, dainty hand appeared from the side and placed itself on Alfred's elbow, rousing the man's attention. Arthur followed the arm and he was met with the sight of a pretty Asian woman. She was dressed smartly in a navy dress with her long hair pulled back in a ponytail. A quick glance between the two had Arthur quickly come to the assumption that these two were close and, much to his displeasure, the newfound fact made him feel a little uncomfortable.
Well fuck me, Arthur thought bitterly. The bastard's got good taste.
"Hm? Oh, hey," Alfred acknowledged with a blink of those blue, blue eyes before an easy grin lit up his boyish face. "Um, yeah. Sorry about that. I kinda wandered off and bumped into Archie here."
"Arthur," Arthur corrected the man with a sharp tut and when the woman glanced at him with her bright intelligent eyes, he lowered his gaze in embarrassment. It was perhaps good timing that Alfred had wisely (though that adjective was debatable) chosen that moment to laugh it off and shatter the awkwardness which rose up between the three of them. Accompanying that rumble of a laugh, Alfred gave Arthur a rough pat on his shoulder as an apologetic gesture.
"Arthur, yeah, that. But y'know, seriously man, you guys have weird names. Is it like a British thing or something?" he said in a poor attempt of a joke and Arthur was certain he had heard something similar to this somewhere before. Unamused, Arthur bristled at this and before he could open his mouth to retort, the woman beside him beat him to it with a tilt of her head. Alfred simply laughed and he threw her a sheepish look.
Seemingly accustomed to this, she let out a small sigh before she extended her hand out towards Arthur. "I'm sorry. Al tends to say ridiculous things like this but he really is a good person. I hope you could forgive him," she said in surprisingly good English, her words accompanied by a small rueful smile. Her voice was soft but firm and confident. "Hi, my name is Thien. Al and I work in the same in law firm."
A couple and they worked in the same field?
Arthur's mouth twitched as he returned her smile with a strained one.
Well that was fucking brilliant. That was a match made in heaven right there.
"O-Oh. I'm sorry, how awfully rude of me. I should have introduced myself. Arthur. Arthur Kirkland. Pleased to meet you," Arthur said, immediately accepting her hand the moment he snapped out of his snarky thoughts. Deciding to stick by the rules of social etiquette, he thought a little more before finally adding, "Alfred and I, we went to…well, we met each other through a mutual friend."
Huh. Mutual friend indeed. It was more like a friend whom you hadn't remembered his name.
When she released his hand, Arthur noticed that his hand tingled a little. Why, even her handshake was soft, firm and confident like her voice. The brief touch had left an impression on him and soon after, a great amount of respect towards this incredible woman rose within him. This woman was different from the women he had met in the past. Unlike Lauren or Belle, she was a different sort of beauty. Elegant, refined and cool. She was the complete polar opposite of Alfred and that was something Arthur found difficult to accept. Why, how was someone so half-assed and inconceivably rude as Alfred able to snag a beautiful, admirable woman like her? It just didn't add up, not to mention that it also made him sorely envious – which was very, very silly.
Unfortunately, his feelings seemed to be reflecting off his face then. He could feel it – the small throbbing in between his brows, the slight down curve of his lips. It took him a few seconds to realise this and when he did, he quickly slipped on a neutral expression on his face. If Thien had spotted it, she was probably sensible to overlook it if that small cryptic smile was anything to go by. With words left unspoken between them, she turned her head to look over to Alfred, who was watching them with an inscrutable expression on his face.
Arthur raised an eyebrow at this.
What's with that searching look?
For a moment, Arthur wondered if Alfred was the jealous type. He measured out a possibility that perhaps the sight of Thien talking to him (or even paying him a degree of attention) had ticked the American off and that alone gave Arthur a small sense of accomplishment. 'Ha! Well, that's what you get for being such a twat. It's no secret that women have flocked to me in the past, you know!' he thought smugly.
"Al?" Thien called out in a rather endearing accent, at the same time when a familiar smooth voice spoke.
"Arthur?"
Francis was walking towards them with an amiable smile on his face. Oh, that's right. He had forgotten about why and how he had come to be here in the first place. Alfred and Thien were both peering at Francis and the moment his boss joined them, he extended his hand out.
"Please excuse my intrusion. Francis Bonnefoy. It is lovely to meet you…?"
"O-Oh, yes, um, Mr. Bonnefoy, this is Thien – am I pronouncing it correctly? Yes? Oh that's good - and Ass-" Arthur swallowed back the insult and corrected himself. "Alfred. They both work as solicitors."
"A pleasure," Francis hummed, lifting Thien's hand to kiss it.
Arthur felt a small twinge in his chest as and it surprised him greatly. Well, sure, it was no secret that Francis was quite the charmer towards attractive folk but for some reason, witnessing Francis's cordial exchange struck him as oddly discomforting. He took a small step back as they exchanged a few pleasantries before Francis moved to shake Alfred's hand.
Oh?
It was only then did Arthur notice the small, strained look on Alfred's face.
The exchange between two men seemed polite and awkward yet for some reason Arthur couldn't shake off the feeling that something felt a little off. He was certain that there was an unmistakable glint of recognition in Alfred's eyes. Was there a possibility that he and Francis know each other?
"Pardon me, sirs. I apologise for the wait. I shall escort you to your table now," a waiter from Savoy Grill announced not too far them and that was all it took to break the tension in the air.
"Ah, well, please excuse us. It has been delightful to meet you, Monsieur, Mademoiselle," Francis declared with a charming quirk of his lips.
Thien returned the smile. "A pleasure."
"Yeah, same here," Alfred finally said after an uncomfortable pause before giving Arthur a sideways glance. "I'll see ya round then."
Arthur responded with a hesitant nod. He wasn't sure if that was a statement or a question. Casting a fleeting look towards the couple, Arthur felt an unsettling feeling wash over him as he clumped after Francis into the dimly lit and grand-looking dining room.
It had bothered him endlessly. The entire affair kept replaying over and over in his head and thus after a fourth glass of red wine and throwing furtive glances across the room to where Alfred and Thien were seated at a table with a group of people, Arthur had finally decided to muster the bravado to speak his mind.
"Say, Mr. Bonnefoy-"
"Ah ah ah. Have I not asked you to address me as Francis, mon chou? We are not at work as you can see."
Arthur snorted at the correction as he cut through the tender meat of his veal escalope. "It's hardly the location that bothers me, Mr. Bonnefoy. I just don't understand why you still insist on such a small thing," he retorted before taking a bite of the veal. He would be lying if he said that the veal wasn't delicious because it certainly was tender and beautifully seasoned. In the back of his mind, he wondered if he had the capability of imitating this seasonal dish back in the too-small kitchen of his too-small flat. A decisive nod and another bite later he figured that yes, perhaps he might. It couldn't hurt to try after all. If he was lucky, he might even serve it to a girl he'd meet in the future. If, being emphasised greatly.
Francis took a sip of his wine. "Why, it is very simple. It is to suit the nature of our relationship, of course."
"Huh. And what would that be?" asked Arthur, taking another bite as he stole another furtive glance at Alfred's table.
"Why, as potential lovers." It was said as if the most obvious thing in the world.
Startled by this unexpected declaration, Arthur made an unflattering sound and choked around his veal. He thumped at his chest to dislodge the meat and after several smacks, finally swallowed it down. "Sorry?" he croaked.
Francis leant back in his chair and oh was that smirk positively growing.
Embarrassed, Arthur glanced around them quickly to make sure that no one was listening in (or staring, for that matter) before he cast the man a disapproving look. "Mr. Bonnefoy-"
"You are a charming and very attractive man, Arthur."
It took a lot of effort for Arthur to not drop his fork at that. "Will you please stop that," he hissed. He could feel a flush of warmth spread across his cheeks and up to his ears.
"Stop what, mon chou?" Francis repeated in mock surprise. "I am merely providing you the truth. Is that not what you wanted to ask me?"
"What? O-Of course not! There was-no-wh-whatever gave you that ludicrous idea?" he sputtered. Relinquishing his grasp from the base of his fork in fear of doing something incredibly stupid and dangerous, Arthur had opted to seize the napkin on his lap and press it to his mouth, wiping it harshly. Oh god, his hands were starting to shake and he wasn't sure if that was from shock or outrage.
In stark contrast to Arthur's current state of confusion, Francis looked rather unperturbed by the extent of distress his words had brought to the Londoner. In fact, he was simply perched rather comfortably in his seat as he studied Arthur closely, his attractively shaped brows arching up in a blatant sign of interest. Arthur had to admit that he was starting to find it impossible to overlook such a detail now that his attention was placed on the chiselled features of that ridiculously handsome face. Really, it was like staring into the face of fucking Adonis. Arthur scowled behind his napkin and he swallowed down the uncomfortable lump which grew in his throat. It was perhaps by a stroke of luck that his brain had helpfully suggested that it was about time for a strategic shift of topic.
"If I were to be frank with you Mr. Bonnefoy, I'd say that I'd really appreciate it if you'd stopped teasing me about such things. If you really must know, I am straight," he found himself blurting the moment he lowered his napkin.
Okay. Perhaps that wasn't very strategic.
"So am I."
"What? No you're not. You're bi," asserted Arthur.
Francis looked rather surprised at this. "Oh?"
Oh.
Shit.
Arthur dropped his gaze to his veal and he pretended to take interest in it. "It's a fact. The whole office knows," he shrugged, trying to keep his tone light and matter-of-fact. To be honest, he needn't to justify his claim because it had been regarded as the truth. Although Arthur wasn't particularly sure as to when the rumour had actually started circulating around the office but he had heard enough anecdotes to gather a sense of unanimous agreement upon the fact that yes, Francis did go both ways and that yes, he truly was an undeniably good lover.
"And you believe this?" Francis enquired.
"Everyone does. What, aren't you going to deny?"
"No," the French man replied smoothly. "But you did not answer my question, mon chéri. Do you believe I am bisexual?"
Arthur wondered if the wine had already started to settle into his system because he was beginning to feel rather warm and uncomfortable in his seat. "Christ, why should I answer that?"
"Tell me Arthur, is sex very important to you?" Francis suddenly interjected with yet another question.
Arthur blinked owlishly at this and the moment Francis's words finally sank in, the napkin he had once been clutching so tightly in his lap slid to the floor in a muffled flop. "I…" he began slowly, his heartbeat stuttering for a second. His hand made its way to the collar of his dress shirt and he gave it a short tug. He cleared his throat. "I'm afraid I don't understand where you're going with this. Why are you suddenly asking about my sex life?"
A pause was dropped between them.
And then Francis was tilting his head back as a warm hearty laugh erupted from him. Arthur, upon being entranced by the sound which reached his ears, was only able to stare at him in astonishment.
"Oh la la! Pardon avec moi, I meant sexual orientations, mon chou!" Francis corrected and his eyes were dancing with mirth. "I apologise for not being clear but…well, I believe we both can agree that someone has become rather bold this evening."
Arthur's mouth flapped open and close in disbelief for a few seconds before he finally pursed his lips into a tight line. "Don't be daft. It's the wine talking," he grumbled shamefacedly, fidgeting in his seat before he mumbled out an apology when his leg bumped against Francis's. When he moved his leg away however, Francis had inched his body forward and his knee brushed against Arthur's thigh. Arthur could feel the blush on his face grow as his heart leapt to his throat.
Since when had he gotten so close?
"Oh? I did not think you are one with low tolerance," Francis all but purred as he proceeded to refill their glasses with more red wine. "So the myth of the English being able to hold their liquor is false?"
"I'm not drunk," Arthur retorted, trying his best to remain composed. On impulse, he leant back in his chair as an effort to re-establish the dwindling barrier of the boss-subordinate relationship between them. Unfortunately this subtle move was overlooked by Francis as said man's leg was now shamelessly resting against Arthur's under the table. "I can hold my spirits far better than you bloody French can hold your…whatever," he added, his voice thick with discomfort.
Francis flashed a smirk at him. "Ah, so you say that the redness on your face is truly a blush for me? Oh la la la la! Tu es très mignon!"
God damn it, this man is impossible.
It truly didn't help that within Arthur's state of relative tipsiness (pfft who are you calling drunk? A few glasses is nothing), the debonairness which easily rolled off Francis seemed to increase a tenfold.
Arthur picked up his wine glass and he downed more than half of the drink down in one go. "Hmph, what makes you think I'm blushing? I'll admit that I am a little flushed but that's just because it's warm in here." A lie. It was the fucking Baltic in here, regardless of the heater being turned up since this winter was cold as fuck. It makes Arthur wonder how the female patrons were able to wear those flattering evening dresses without turning blue. "Honestly Mr. Bonnefoy, you're certainly full of yourself. Salving sweet words on others won't get you anywhere, you know. And neither will your comestible gifts."
"Oh? The Savoy is not to your palate?"
"No, quite the opposite. The food is fantastic and all, but you really should know that it's not going to win you any curry favours," Arthur stated as he circulated his glass to watch the wine slosh around a little. He took another sip, inwardly thankful that Francis had unwittingly gave him something meaningful to do. He couldn't fathom the extent his clumsiness if he were to wield his cutlery.
However, rather than become discouraged by his statement, Francis seemed to look positively pleased at his remark. "Well, curry favour may not be what I really seek for but you really cannot blame me for my efforts, mon chou. Why, your very being ignites the core of my soul with passion. If sitting in front of you like this makes me burn, I wonder what it would be like if you were to be under me. I feel that my heart would burst."
Arthur had just tilted his glass to his lips, only to curse when he failed to capture his drink and now a stain was found down the front of his shirt. However stain be damned because that wasn't important now. What shoved all his thoughts out and occupied his mind right there and then was…
"Please don't tell me that you've memorised all of that from a Mills and Boon romance."
Francis blinked. "Pardon?"
Arthur stood from his seat. "Excuse me for a moment. I need the bathroom."
With an awkward wave of his hand (he wasn't particularly sure as to why he was waving), he extracted himself from their table and more or less crab-walked his way to the bathroom. He could feel the inquisitive gazes that were spared towards him as he squeezed past a few tables but he couldn't care less about that. His face was hot. Very, very hot and it unsettled him because in spite of how disturbing Francis's words were, he was unperturbed by them.
And that in itself was just not right.
Arthur let out a frustrated sigh and he glared at the mirror.
He had been trying to wash the stain out of his shirt but after a while, he gave up since water and hand soap wasn't doing much.
"I see you're having a swell evening."
Arthur whirled around and he was startled to find Alfred standing right in front of him. It was a little unnerving how the American had found it perfectly all right to situate himself in his personal space. Shrugging it off as an American thing (harbouring greater confidence and all), he took a step away from the sink to restore the acceptable space between them. "I didn't hear you come in," he said.
Alfred flashed him a grin. "Oh yeah, I guess you were probably really busy with that shirt of yours. I mean dude, seriously? Red wine? How could you even spill that stuff on yourself? Are you really that clumsy? And y'know that's gonna stay there – wait, were you putting hot – no shit, seriously you were? Oh man. Y'know, for someone who's rumoured to be the drinker, you guys sure don't know much about cleaning stains huh?"
"What are you talking about?" Arthur asked defensively with a frown. And here he had been seeking for a moment to gather his repose. He was about to reach over for a tissue to dab his shirt dry when Alfred stepped into his space once more and rudely tugged him by the elbow to direct him towards the sink as he turned on the tap. "O-Oy! Just what do you think you're doing?" he hissed as he tried to pull his arm back. His elbow was throbbing under Alfred's firm grip and it briefly reminded him of last night's escapade.
"Dude, relax man. You can't use hot water Aaron or it'll make the stain stay on way longer," Alfred explained, reaching over for a tissue to wet it as Arthur's automatic correction to his name flies past his head. "And you gotta dab? Blob? Blot? Ah whatever, you get the idea though right? Yeah, that, so you won't go on making it worse. Lucky for you, you're in damn good British luck that I've got an awesome solution for your predicament."
Arthur wrestled his arm out of the man's grasp. "Oh? And what would that be? Douse me with cold water? Yes, that'd be absolutely helpful, wouldn't it?" he remarked sarcastically. Oh confound it, he couldn't care less if he coming off as a prick to the other man. Alfred was the big knobhead here.
Alfred quirked his eyebrow at him while his other hand fished his pockets for-
"Check it out, yo."
Arthur stared at the offending object which had been thrust under his nose. "What? You've got to be joking."
"Dude I'm totally serious!" Alfred threw his head back and laughed when he spotted the disbelief on Arthur's face. "Here. This shit totally works." He brandished it towards Arthur, who didn't take it.
"It's fucking toothpaste. How is that going to do anything?"
"Well, ya gotta rub it in and it'll come off."
"Rubbish."
Alfred frowned at him. "No seriously. It's not rubbish. I don't understand why you're not understanding the fact that I'm helping you out here."
"I never said I wanted your help," Arthur interjected.
"Huh, really?" When Alfred looks genuinely surprised at this, Arthur couldn't help but wonder just how far the extent of this man's sense of self-absorption was. "Well that sucks. Too bad I'm still gonna be the hero and help you out anyway."
"What hero? Look, really, I don't need your-"
Without a speck of propriety, Alfred squeezed a pea-size amount of toothpaste onto his finger. He disregarded the unhappy squawk which came from Arthur and leaned in to rub the paste ever so roughly across the stain. "It was her idea, y'know. She said this stuff works and then she pretty much nagged me into to bringing it along. I mean I can't understand why it has to be me instead of her since she's got a bag. I mean, that's what bags are for, right? To put your stuff in. I don't understand why they always flat out refuse to let us guys put our takeouts in them. I mean, what use is it carrying around huge bags when you're not going to put anything reasonably useful in them, you know what I'm saying?"
Arthur held back a sigh. "Crystal clear. Now will you please kindly get-"
"Oh yeah and FYI, to be honest I can't say I've really tested the theory out myself so don't sue me if – oh. Ah. Huh. Shit, I think I made it worse. Gee, sorry buddy."
Arthur shoved Alfred's hand off to inspect the peppermint-scented damage and fuck, the front of his shirt looked like it had been plastered with bloody spunk. Arthur let out an frustrated noise. "Great. Brilliant. Thanks for your help. I really appreciate it," he remarked bitterly as he tried to wipe it off with some damp tissues. No such luck. If anything, he actually made it even more unappealing to the eye than before. He swore.
Fantastic. Absolutely fucking fantastic.
"Hay, I said I was sorry. It's just a shirt, y'know."
Arthur scoffed and he gave the man an incredulous look. "Why yes, it is indeed just a shirt and I bloody well wouldn't give a fuck too if we were in my local fish and chips," he snapped. "But hey, as you can very well observe, this isn't my local fish and chips and that yes, my shirt is not just a shirt because it is the only shirt which I will have to use for the rest of the night, in front of-"
"So is it a date?"
"Huh?"
Alfred was looking directly at him with those blue, blue eyes. He jerked his head towards the door. "Francis Bonnefoy. You two on a date?"
Arthur couldn't believe what he was hearing and he flushed red at this. "Wha-! H-He's my boss, for fuck's sake!" he exclaimed.
They stared at each other for a moment, the drop of pause between them quiet and stifling as Arthur stood clenching his fists by his sides.
"Huh," was all what Alfred said.
"What do you mean by 'huh'?"
"That's just what it is." Alfred's response was just as cryptic as the first. Arthur scowled at him and his shoulders were hunched up defensively. He didn't know what the deal was but whatever assumptions Alfred had cropping up in that thick head of his, it was making him angry and terribly anxious.
"Just what are you-"
And then it clicked.
"No! God, Christ, no! We are not-! Why do you-what is up with people concluding that I'm- I'm not–sod off! I am not having this from you of all people!" Arthur cried and he moved around Alfred to leave. "Now, if you'll excuse me-"
"Glad it's not a date then."
Alfred's voice was low. Serious.
Arthur paused by the door, his brows pinched together in confusion. He opened his mouth to say something, his mind groping around for some sort of plausible response to fill in the uncomfortable silence which fell upon them. He looked over his shoulder, only to find Alfred walking past him and out the door.
"See ya 'round."
Arthur huffed, a breath he hadn't realised he had been holding in exhaled out of him.
"What a prat."
By the time Arthur had finally stepped back into the dining room, it had been ten minutes since Alfred left. He had spent all that time fruitlessly cleaning his shirt and it was only after another patron had walked in to use the lavatory did he leave. He took a deep breath, straightened his dirty shirt and quickly made a beeline to his table with his shoulders hunched forward as he tried his best to hide the stain. The moment he plopped into his seat, he quickly pulled his on coat and this earned a raised brow from Francis. In spite of feeling guilty for abruptly leaving his boss alone, Arthur didn't meet his gaze. Instead he busied himself with the zip, forcefully tugging it up to close.
"Is something the matter?"
Arthur stopped zipping halfway and he cleared his throat. "No it's all, um, fine. All fine," he replied weakly, lifting his chin to glance at the table. "Oh, you've…dessert. Is that, um, fraise?"
"Oui, mon chou," said Francis with a small smile. "Mille-feuilles aux fraises. I hope you will enjoy it. It is delicious."
"Brilliant. It looks…good," commented Arthur as he ran his fingers ran across the teeth of his coat zipper. He tried to ignore the look which was tossed at him by a passing waiter and picked up his fork. He was a little disappointed to find that his veal had already been taken away upon return but giving it another thought, he realised that he wasn't hungry at all then. As scrumptious as the pastry looked before him, he didn't have the stomach for it.
Ever since the short encounter with Alfred in the bathroom, a burst of anxiety had swelled up inside of him and it was starting to slowly eat at him from inside. No, perhaps anxiety wasn't the right word. Confusion, maybe. A frustrating sense of confusion which was setting him on the edge.
Arthur stared at his plate.
Ah, a fag would be nice right about now, he thought sulkily, only to have his mood dampened when he remembered that his cigarette supply for two days had all been used up from last night. Goddamn bloody Prussian-
"Arthur?" Francis called out.
"Yes, sorry, what were you saying?"
He looked up to see Francis gazing at him with a calculative look.
"Are you all right? I noticed that you had taken some time in the bathroom," the man said and his eyes were straying towards Arthur's shirt.
Out of consciousness, Arthur tugged the zipper up a notch. "I…I'm fine. I just needed to tend to something for a bit. It's nothing spectacularly disastrous," he replied with a small sheepish laugh which might have sounded a little too forced as he tried to cross his legs. He was startled however when his leg crossed over a leg which was clearly not his.
"Oh." Francis's brows rose up surprise.
"Oh-shi-! Fuck!" Arthur swore out loud and he jerked his leg under the table, his knee banging against wood. The sound had attracted the attention of the nearby patrons, their murmurs of disapproval reaching to Arthur's ears. While Francis smiled apologetically at them and raised his hand to an approaching waiter, Arthur slowly set his fork down and he could feel his blush climb up to his ears.
Oh god. This was just unbelievable.
Taking hold of his zipper, he pulled it all the way up to his chin as he tried to collect himself. "Mr. Bonnefoy, I am so sorry. I-I didn't mean to-" he began.
"Non, non. C'est ne pas grave," his boss chuckled, looking rather amused for some reason as a waiter approached their table with what seemed to be the bill.
"No, it's not alright. What I did just now was incredibly stupid and embarrassing. I didn't think – well, I didn't realise that and then – well, you know I compulsively swear like a pirate which in itself is horrendously un-gentlemanly of me and I could have sworn I am working hard on holding it back and yet-" Arthur gabbled on as he fiddled with his zip, looking anywhere but Francis. He only really stopped when Francis suddenly reached over and pressed a finger against his lips to shush him.
"Ah, ah," cooed Francis with a wink. "It is not serious, yes? We shall save that blush for later so come, let us leave."
"Leave?"
Arthur gawked at him.
He was stunned by both the finger and the sudden suggestion.
His mind suddenly became blank and all he could really think about was just how warm Francis's finger was against his lips. It wasn't exactly soft but it wasn't exactly coarse either and the pressure applied against his lips wasn't that all domineering. It made him curious. In a moment of inspiration, Arthur parted his lips a tad bit and exhaled.
Francis retracted his finger.
Arthur slowly rose from his seat when Francis did and he watched the man pull his coat on, his eyes following those long arms as they slipped into the garment ever so elegantly. Arthur swallowed back the lump in his throat. "But what about dessert?" he asked feebly, gesticulating towards their untouched cakes.
Francis simply chuckled at this.
There was a charming quirk to his lips before he coolly replied, "Ah, well, I believe that your shirt is far more important than dessert, no?"
A/N: And that was chapter five. In case, you weren't certain, Thien is Vietnam and that yes, she and Alfred are together. Reviews are very much appreciated and well, until the next chapter then, lovelies.