"Stop it."
"Stop what, Arthur? I'm not doing anything," Francis' thick French accent innocently claimed with matching facials. He continued humming the tune in his throat, playing an innocent tune with his vibrating vocal cords. But for those who knew the Frenchman, he was far from innocent. Francis was an expert at seducing anyone due to his charming personality and handsome good looks, so he often got nightly "exercise"so to speak.
"Stop bloody humming, frog! It's giving me a headache, as if you don't already do that enough," Arthur said in an irritated tone. Francis had been humming "Greensleeves" for the past ten minutes, and it just so happened that this particular tune was Arthur's favorite song. Francis was doing it just to annoy him, he was sure of it! Why else would Francis have chosen that particular song instead of some French rubbish Francis calls music?
"But it is such a beautiful piece of music! Why not sing something like this to relax oneself in such an unsettling environment like this?" Francis retorted calmly. "And if I recall, it is your favorite, non?" Francis added playfully. Arthur merely groaned in annoyance. So he had been doing it on purpose. But Arthur had to wonder why; If Francis wanted to annoy him, he should have made some sly remark about Arthur's body or the last shag he had, not sing the Brit's favorite musical piece. What good would come out of singing a soothing tone to him? It left Arthur pondering this, his enormous eyebrows furrowing together in concentration on his thoughts. He hadn't even noticed that Francis had stopped singing because he was so lost in his own thoughts.
"I suppose it is my favorite…" he said, finally snapping out of his thoughts, even though his eyebrows were still furrowed into a tight knot on his forehead, giving the illusion of a long caterpillar perched upon his forehead in the dim moonlight.
"You should probably stop frowning, Arthur. Your eyebrows might get stuck like that," Francis snickered. Arthur immediately tensed and punched his shoulder in anger with the hand that Francis wasn't currently occupying. Francis let out a small grunt in pain, but merely continued walking. They rounded a corner, gravestones lining the path on either side. The two continued in silence, the only sounds being the cries of grasshoppers and their own footsteps. To Arthur, the silence was quite calming, given the circumstances. Not even holding the manicured hand of Francis, his long-time enemy and friend, could faze him.
Arthur heard giggling and cautiously peered to his left to see two fairies playing with each other. The two bounced on mushrooms quietly giggling to each other. Arthur gave a gentle smile at the sight, reminding him of the times he played with Francis when they were younger.
Arthur and Francis were almost always playing with each other in the woods in their youth, laughing and smiling with each other like the friends they were. After hours of playing, the two would end up under the large oak towering in the center of the dense woods, Arthur asleep in Francis' lap more often than not. As the small boy napped, Francis would gently sing to him a soothing lullaby while stroking his messy hair. There was also a day when Arthur fell asleep under that same oak tree when he was around ten years of age. Francis was taking a casual walk and stumbled upon him. The French boy wasted no time in seeing if the other was awake, and when he was sure Arthur was out cold, he hesitantly kissed the younger's forehead. Arthur never knew that event had ever occurred, but the Brit still missed the fun days he shared with Francis.
In present-day, Arthur was sadly smiling at the memories. Somewhere along the lines, the two had changed from the closest of friends to bitter enemies, always at the other's throats. He pondered where things had gone wrong. While Arthur was busy thinking of the past, Francis' thought were somewhere else.
As they walked along, Francis was thinking about how he felt about Arthur, and vice versa. Recently, the Frenchman had been feeling a strange sensation build up in his abdomen whenever the grumpy Brit was near and he was oddly excited Alfred had chosen the two to be paired together as a team for this challenge. As for Arthur, Francis was quite certain the Brit hated everything about him, which made Francis feel strangely depressed. The Frenchman's lips were pursed and an unreadable expression had wormed its way onto Francis' face.
"Why do you look so serious, frog?" Arthur inquired sternly. Francis immediately pushed his thoughts into one of the cemetery's many graves and buried them for the time being as he dug out a cheerful expression.
"Just thinking, mon ami. Why, are you worried about me?" the Frenchman grinned slyly. Arthur just scowled.
"In your silly French dreams! I was only thinking that looking serious isn't really your thing. Looking like a cheesy-monkey suits you more," the smirking Brit replied with an air of pride at his comeback. "What were you thinking about? I'm only making conversation, mind you!" he added. Why had he tacked on the last statement? Did he want Francis to get the wrong idea? Or rather, very right idea, that Arthur had been worried about him and what he was thinking about. Was that the correct idea? Arthur couldn't be sure.
Francis merely chuckled and continued walking. He began to hum the song again just to get on Arthur's last nerve. Just as he had predicted, Arthur was turning a pretty shade of red and promptly smacked the French blonde's head with his free hand.
"Answer my damn question, frog!" Arthur pressed. Francis stopped humming and smirked.
"If you honestly want to know…" he began, a sly idea forming in his head. He motioned for Arthur to bring his ear closer. "I was imagining what it would be like to see you sprawled under me, screaming my name to the heavens, and begging for more," he whispered seductively. Arthur froze in his steps for a brief second, his emerald eyes widening and his cheeks deepening their shade. Francis straightened himself and continued walking, tugging Arthur steadily along with him by his sweaty palm. He felt proud of himself, being the one making Arthur blush as if he were a school-girl with an overwhelming crush on the popular boy at school.
Instead of replying with a violent action and scolding him in an ungentlemanly fashion, Arthur ceased to lag in his walk and continued walking, gripping his contesting partner's hand tighter in his own, an evident blush that spread across the bridge of his nose and to the tips of each ear illuminating bright pink in the moonlight.
Arthur continued walking with his green eyes focusing on each and every trivial pebbled that passed under his shoe. There was no way on precious Earth that Arthur Kirkland would wish for Francis fucking Bonnefoy to make him emit such vulgar noises! Absolutely no way in hell! But as he was reassuring himself, a sudden image passed through his mind that completely destroyed all self-assurance; He was indeed spread underneath Francis as the Frenchman licked and kissed the side of his neck, making him shudder in pleasure. Francis was whispering dirty French in his ear, all the while grinding and rutting against the front of his dress slacks, making Arthur groan and whimper weakly.
Arthur killed the image of him and Francis in his head and buried it directly next to where said Frenchman's previous thoughts were buried.
"Y-You're just joking, you bloody pervert," Arthur lamely said. Francis chuckled.
"Of course I am, mon cher. You know I can never pass up the opportunity to tease you, seeing as I adore the cute blush you get." Arthur was about to retort with fury until he heard a loud branch snap about five feet behind them. Both of them spun around, only to be faced with the gravestones sleeping soundly in the cemetery. Shortly following the snapped branch was an ominous aura of sheer sadness and revenge. Arthur wasted no time in pulling Francis into a small clearing to the side of their path, thick brambles guarding them from sight.
"Stay down. I sense something and the slightest noise could offset… whatever it is that's out there," Arthur hissed. Francis nodded in obedience knowing full well how much Arthur was involved in occult affairs. He and anyone else would be a fool to doubt the British man when it came to spell-casting and magic and the likes. One time, Francis had made fun of Arthur's magic, but in return found himself lacking hair for the next week. That taught Francis a valuable lesson as to not mess with Arthur's magic skills.
The two men peered through the bushes only to be faced with darkness. That is, until the apparition of a young woman clad in an all-white dress with countless rips and tears randomly placed along it appeared in the pathway. She appeared to be crying for something, or someone to end her sadness and pain, but no avail. The woman began to chant to the wind, appearing to be calling to her long-lost lover. "She's liable to go on a rampage if her depression hits its peak... Stay down until I know it's safe," Arthur whispered to his companion. Francis nodded in understanding.
The woman stopped suddenly, in direct view of the two men's eyes. Her lifeless eye sockets suddenly glowed a deep red and a blood-curdling screech rang out from her wide mouth. The two almost disconnected their hands in favor of holding their ears shut, but managed to only close one of them with their free hands. Nevertheless, the two continued to peer through the shrubs as she began to rampage among the graveyard, ripping headstones and whole trees from the earth and tossing them in any direction possible.
Arthur's eyes widened as a huge branch came hurtling towards them. Arthur wasted no time in swiftly pulling them out of the way, the branch barely missing the two of them. The ghostly woman disappeared after hurtling a few more shrubs and the likes.
"Bugger..." Arthur groaned in pain from him tackling Francis so abruptly. He opened his emerald eyes to reveal Francis sprawled beneath him, (his knees on either side of the Frenchman) gazing up at him with those perfect blue eyes that shimmered so magnificently in the bright moonlight. Arthur couldn't help but stare back, completely enraptured in the blue. Arthur hesitantly raised his unoccupied hand to brush a piece of hair out of Francis' face. Francis smiled lightly at that as he gave Arthur's hand a squeeze, their hands still miraculously clasped.
"I do believe the prince should receive a token of gratitude for rescuing the princess," Francis chuckled.
"Francis, what-?" but his statement was quickly cut off by a pair of lips pressing against his. Arthur froze in his spot as warm lips spread tenderly over his own, and Arthur found himself relaxing his eyelids closed and eagerly kissing the other back with a fire he had never felt before for the Frenchman. Francis tangled their fingers together (without breaking their hands apart) so that their hands mirrored each other as their mouths overlapped each other in desperate hunger. As Francis ran his tongue gently over Arthur's lower lip to ask for an invitation to Arthur's mouth, the Brit wasted no time in opening his mouth to allow Francis to explore his wet cavern of teeth and taste buds.
The two were soon pressing closer to each other, trying to get more of what they already had. Francis raised himself to sit cross-legged, Arthur wrapping his legs around Francis' waist and settling in his lap in turn. Arthur's free hand was gripped tightly in the shape of a clenched fist in Francis' dress shirt and Francis' hand was tangling itself in choppy, blonde locks.
Francis titled his head to allow himself to deepen the kiss, his tongue licking every crevice that resided in Arthur's mouth. Their tongues danced and twisted around each other as if trying to knot together eternally. Arthur let out a groan as he wondered how this had all escalated so quickly; one moment he was staring down a ghost and the next he's in Francis' lap, tongue-tied, so to speak, in front of some random stranger's eternal resting place.
Arthur pulled his mouth away from the hungry Frenchman to breath, but as soon as he did, Francis pulled Arthur towards his chest and embraced him with one arm, his head resting in the crook of the Brit's steadily pulsing neck.
"Arthur..." Francis whispered into his neck, the hot air sending shivers down Arthur's spine, "I love you. Je t'aime, mon petit lapin," Francis confessed.
Arthur merely gripped Francis' hand with shock and disbelief as a jumble of questions flew through his mind; Francis loved him? For how long? Was this merely a cruel joke fate played on him? Or was this for real? And for that matter, how did Arthur feel about Francis' confession? His mind was moving faster than the bullet train he had ridden with Kiku when he last visited. Arthur suddenly remembered Francis had called him twice a day to check on him whenever he first went to Japan for a business-vacation with Kiku.
"Francis… Look at me, you fool," Arthur gently pleaded with a hint of laughter. Francis gladly lifted his head from Arthur's neck and looked him in the green eyes he had come to adore so very much.
As Arthur looked for the right words to say, he never noticed how beautiful Francis' eyes were. They were the hue of a bright blue sapphire with a twinge of midnight blue around the pupils. When he laughed his annoying French laugh, the bright blue shone brilliantly as if his happiness could be conveyed through those irises. When the Frenchman was feeling sad or lonely, the hue would deepen to be darker. But right now they sparkled with a feeling he had never seen in Francis' eyes before. Was it love? Tenderness? Passion? It could be a mixture of all these as the moonlight irradiated those irises boring deep into his own forest-colored ones.
"Francis, I, uhm… Well, I…" Arthur began, until he felt another presence replace the one before the woman. This aura was more menacing than the other. "Another's come. It's not her. Stay quiet." Francis did as he was told but he couldn't help but place minor kisses all over Arthur's face and neck, causing him to blush. Suddenly the bushes were pulled back, and they came face-to-face with who they thought to be the devil.
It turned out only to be Ivan and Yao, claiming to be on their way to the center. The two had explained what happened to them and about the legend. Afterwards, the two of them went a separate way, wishing Arthur and Francis well on their quest for the win.
The Brit and Frenchman both noticed how the Chinese man was no longer being held, so that cancelled out their group for the big prize. The two walked onwards, still hand-in-hand, with Arthur thinking about Francis' sudden confession.
"Francis…?"
"Yes, my love?" Francis smiled.
"I…" he gulped. "I love you, too, frog." Francis happily leaned over to kiss his lover proudly on the lips.
Neither of them noticed the small hovercraft looming overhead with a large camera attached to the side, or a small, gray-colored alien inside, filming all of the events that had transpired between the two of them.
A/N: I hope this is worth the wait, my lovelies! I try! And don't forget to vote on who the lucky couple gets the extra smut chapter at the end if you haven't already!
I am currently taking requests, so feel free to ask for a story (any rating, any pair) in a PM! Don't be shy 3
Until next chapter! OwO
