Prompt: Dusty book case~ ^^
Thank you for the prompt and you gave me the liberty of choosing the pairing, so I’ve been sitting here thinking of what I can do with it and there were thousands of ideas in my head! I ended up going with Fruk though! hope you don’t mind :) Anyway exams got in the way of me responding quickly but I finally finished it!!!
TITLE : Besides needing dusting, Arthur’s book collection deserves to be mocked.
When Francis went over to his dear friend's place he had not expected a feather duster to be pushed into his hands with the words “Ah frog! Since you’re here, for some reason you might as well help me do my spring cleaning!”
The Frenchman had looked at the brush in his hand for a good minute before shrugging and going along with it because if he was honest he had no reason to visit the Englishman other than to annoy him. He supposed helping the other clean was going to be just another opportunity to do so.
He squashed a small voice in his head that whispered that in reality he just wanted an excuse to spend time with the other man.
That would be completely ridiculous and embarrassing!
Francis went around the Englishman's cabinets looking for something to protect his shirt from the dust. He settled for an ugly Beatles t-shirt the Englishman should have burned somewhere in the 90s already. Shouting this to the other as he came back downstairs lead to some swear words and insults in reply which amused him.
Although he did enjoy the Brit reluctantly admitting that the shirt looked good on him. Especially the rosy blush on his cheeks, it made him feel light and warm on the inside.
An hour later and he had gotten into the nice domesticity of cleaning the Englishman's house with him.
Francis was singing some French song, just loud enough to bother Arthur who was busy cleaning another room, when he turned his attention to the Englishman's dusty book case. He sighed and went to work. Reading the titles as he dusted each book with a quick and efficient movements.
He laughed at the wide range of books his friend possessed.
Of course Jane Austen and some Oscar Wilde. The whole Harry Potter collection, the hunger games but also 50 shades of grey.
"And I'm the pervert with bad taste," Francis thought to himself amused.
The Frenchman was glad to see there were also a number of books by Victor Hugo. He opened them and was impressed to see they were hand signed by the author himself. True original copies worth quite a lot of money nowadays, he whistled in surprise.
In the same row there were also a good amount of French romance novels, which highly amused him.
He continued and his eyes widened. Not one, not two, but 5 different variations of the Kama Sutra. He whistled but this time louder.
A muffled "What!" Was shouted from the other room before his lack of response made the other grumble and go back to his cleaning.
He made sure to carefully dust off the explicit works, and as he reached the end of the row a small notebook fell to the side. Nothing was written on top of it but Francis felt like it was well used.
Curiosity got the better of him and he opened the book on a random page.
A raised eyebrow as the Englishman’s writing met his eyes. Various pages of poetry, and thoughts about an unnamed man the Brit seemed to be quite taken with. Every page was marked with a date, telling him this has been going on for a couple of decades already.
He didn’t read anything completely, just skimming as a sick feeling made itself known in his stomach.
Who was this man that had managed to steal his Englishman’s heart? Who was so important to the man that he felt the need to express these feelings in this little notebook? Sentences such as;
“Looking ever more beautiful by the day,”
“Makes my heart ache,” and especially
“My feelings for him are now deeper than what the word ‘love’ could ever describe.”
Made the Frenchman want to kick something.
He suddenly dropped the notebook as he realised what he was feeling was jealousy, ugly pathetic jealousy. He huffed out a strained laugh, as he shook himself out of it.
So what if the Englishman fancied someone? Why should he care? He didn’t care... not at all. He cared not a single bit... he cared...
A lot apparently as he felt a sudden wetness on his cheeks. He bent down to pick the notebook back up. So upset he did not hear Arthur come back into the room.
“Oi, Francis, have you almost finished... where did you get that?” The Brit’s eyes were wide and his face became white as a sheet. He tore the little notebook out from Francis’ hands.
“You weren’t meant to ever read this.” He said harshly not looking at the Frenchman.
“I apologise, Arthur,” Francis said softly, and finally the Brit looked up at his face and the strange tone of voice and noticed he had been crying.
“Oh, god, why are you crying? Look I’m sorry I caught feelings. This doesn’t have to change anything, right?” Arthur asked voice wavering, assuming the Frenchman was crying for the wrong reasons.
“Yes it does, how could I ever compete with someone like that?” Francis sniffed.
“What do you mean?” Arthur whispered, feeling his heart beat faster. Could it be? No right?
“You are clearly in love with this man, mon cher, and while I only recently realised why this causes me pain, he seems perfect, and I hope you will be very happy togeth...”
But Francis couldn’t finish his sentence as a body suddenly slammed into his own, his back hitting the now dust-free bookcase, making some books fall to the ground.
He let out a gasp before chapped lips met his own. His heart was beating frantically in his chest, eyes wide and hands holding on to the person for balance.
It took him two seconds to realise he was being kissed, two more to realise it was Arthur’s mouth on his own and two more to finally kiss the man back, giving in.
Francis kissed him like his life depended on it, pulling at the nape of Arthur’s neck while the other moved his hands to weave them into Francis’ hair. It felt like the tension between them that had been building up for years finally exploded filling them with a desperate need to touch, feel and get closer to eachother.
Francis was floating on cloud 9 and had lost all sense of time and where he was which is why he groaned in annoyance when the Englishman pulled back.
Arthur giggled slightly, lips bright red and swollen, “Fuck, Francis, do you know how long I’ve been wanting to do this?”
Francis was still not quite present, and sighed in agreement before remembering why he had been so upset earlier.
“But, I do not understand... What about that man?”
“You are so stupid, Francis” the Englishman grinned at him, smile so bright Francis forgot how to speak.
“It’s you, it has always been about you, from the first to the last page,” the Englishman’s smile turned soft.
“Oh...” Francis murmured, “but you describe him as being so perfect and, wonderful... as if he is the love of your life.”
He watched as Arthur turned red and looked away.
“Oh!” Francis said louder this time.
Francis took back the little notebook and reread all the sentences that had previously infuriated him, he felt himself become more and more flustered now realising some of them even contained explicit descriptions of what Arthur wanted to do to him.
“Arthur, I...,’ The Frenchman started and Arthur turned back to look at him, this time nervous.
“It’s okay, I know it’s a bit much...”
“Yes of course!” Francis grinned and pulled the Englishman closer into a second sweeter and softer kiss.
After a few seconds he pulled back, “Do you really think I would help you clean otherwise?”
but somehow those words still carried affection.
They went back to kissing each other softly, before Francis had an absolutely brilliant idea, “Say, Arthur, how about we put your Kama Sutra book collection to good use?”
So, I hope you like it! :)
