Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Remember, reviews motivate the author.
"Excuse me, dearie?" Oliver could have swooned had he not been so immersed in shock. The potion was brilliant if his beloved was asking him on a date already! Failing to realize that Jean had his attention focused on the doorway rather than his head turnt away in bashfulness, the British man pressed a tender hand to the other's shoulder. Nothing could ruin this moment. "Of course! Oh, Jean, I k-"
"Silence." Jean stood up, giving his companion an irritable jerk of the head. "Come." The Brit was only too happy to obey these brief commands, sliding his arm around the Frenchman's as though Jean was leading him off on a date. Which, in his mind, was exactly what was occurring.
||-||X||-||
Francis sighed loudly. It should have been a wonderful day. The sun was alight in the sky, his suit was still impeccable, enough people were 'admiring' him, and Britain had even insisted on being taken out for their luncheon recess. However, something just felt off to the blond man. He felt a yearning feeling for..something that he couldn't quite name. But he desperately wanted luncheon to end and the meeting to continue.
"Oi, beard-face! You aren't even listening to me, dunderhead!" Roused from his thoughts, the blond looked across the table to see an agitated Arthur glaring back at him. Seeing this as no threat, Francis simply quirked his lips into a smile. "Salut, mon beau~ Were you speaking? Perhaps revealing your inner, special feelings about such a handsome, dashing, charming prince such as myself?" The words danced out without much thought, and they held about half of the usual purr that laced through them. For some reason, the Frenchman didn't feel his typical need to tease Britain when there were more troubling urges to handle.
Arthur narrowed his eyes at the elder European. Something about France was off... He hadn't tried to touch the Brit the entire time they were together, and he wasn't even taking over conversation as he was prone to doing. It was a faint hope that Francis was getting better about considering the feelings of others, but then Arthur also noticed that the bearded blond wasn't even focused on their table conversation. Which, to be honest, was simply Arthur rattling on about the unexpected, 'blood-lusting savages of that world'.
"Oh, piss off, France. You know how I feel about you." There, better to scoff it off and see if France was attentive enough to take the bait he was given.
"Oui, but the question is if you know how you are feeling about me?~ For your body and I have spoken, and we agree that you are so deeply in denial, it is no wonder you consider that vest paired with those socks any fashion statement beyond evidence that the British have no sense of style." Francis took a sip of his coffee, seeming more at ease as the caffeine slid down his esophagus to settle in his digestive system. The Frenchman wore a smug look that he was aware infuriated Arthur, at least resembling his usual self more now that the Brit dragged him out from troublesome musing.
"I've told you plenty of times, my body doesn't even glance in your direction!"
Just as the Frenchman was preparing to battle that claim, the door opened with a small tinkle of a bell, and a dagger whizzed right by his head. When it dug into the wall, four single pieces of blond shined from the piercing point. Jean sneered at his cowering counterpart, taking up the space on the other end of his seat. "Worm. Britain."
"Oh, Jean!~ I wanted to sit next to you!" A gasp of delight. "Artie-kins!" Oliver crammed up right beside his own counterpart, rivaling Francis with his complete disregard for the personal space of others. "And Francey! It's so nice to see you two cupcakes!" He released a giggle, apparently immune to the looks of venom that Arthur continuously shot in his direction. His eyes were all on Jean, simpering in a manner that the generally apathetic man found repulsive.
However, Jean wasn't giving his attention to Oliver. He was looking at Arthur with apparent disinterest, those dead eyes trained on a point just out of the emerald ones that clouded in suspicion. Something about Arthur was just calling to his senses. Forcing him to crave ridiculous scenes with this unfortunate Brit that really was just as annoying as Oliver in his own way. However, the Frenchman couldn't seem to find anything unpleasant about him for the time being.
"... Are you going to just stare at me for the rest of the time, or are you two going to order?" Arthur snapped, flickering his eyes towards Francis as though it was the charming man's fault for their uninvited counterparts to join them during luncheon. He didn't miss out on Francis' gaze, which he trailed back to Oliver. Something akin to rage boiled in his lower stomach.
Jean's horrible smile was jagged and shark-like. "Do you plan to do something about it?" Oliver's smile flickered. Jean didn't smile often, not even when on the hunt for vengeance. Oh, but he did look so handsome with a change to the expression.. If only he was looking at somebody who could fully appreciate the new addition. Such as Oliver.
"Excuse me?" Arthur barked, fingers holding on tight to the underside of his chair. "You know, I've boiled many a frog in my day. None living, mind you, though I imagine that can be arranged."
"Angleterre, please! Calm yourself." Francis shot a look of disdain at the irate British man. "We are in valuable company! Oliver, mon beau, whatever could I order for you?~" The Frenchman rested his chin atop an open palm, and his eyelids became heavy in an attempt to appear more seductive to the pale man. He decided that there was a simple reason the Brit had so suddenly caught his attention(and romantic interest, though that was to be weighted). It must have been destiny.
Destiny brought them together, destiny caused him to fully appreciate the smudged make-up that Oliver insisted on coating his delectable body in, and it was destiny for him to have this sweet British man that Jean obviously didn't spoil as he should. And, to fulfill this destiny, Francis already began to formulate a plan for his dearest Oliver.
Oliver looked at Jean quickly. Surely he'd react to the flirting that Arthur's France was doing! However, a mere glance at the two bickering men was enough to convince him that the Frenchman wasn't even paying attention. He was too upset to notice Francis coming over to his side of the table until the Frenchman was bending over to speak to him. "Oliver, why do you possibly appear so unhappy?" His hand snatched up a vulnerable one, a thumb brushed over the knuckles.
The Brit could have burst into tears right then. His potion hadn't worked.
"Such a sad face does not suit an angel of your beauty, mon chou!" Francis really was so nice, though. "Oi, France! Leave him be!" But he did belong to Arthur. "Angleterre, this does not concern yourself. Return to the fight of tongues with Jean before the sexual tension suffocates us all~." Or perhaps he didn't.
Arthur seethed from where he sat. Francis was chatting up the idiot at his side, Jean was assaulting him in a verbal manner, and Oliver was simply harping about. The Brit stood up and threw down enough marks to pay for Francis' coffee and his tea. "Come on, France," he growled. Francis wailed as Arthur fisted the front of his suit, effectively wrinkling it and stretching it out so that he was forced to follow for minimal damage.
The two men from the other reality were left behind, one in his thoughts and the second gazing at the first.
"... Remember my dagger before we leave." Jean lifted a menu to read.
