Love or Fear of the Cold [1/1]
Title: Love or Fear of the Cold
Author: Melly
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairings: France/England
Warnings: Drinking, language, allusions to sex
Summary: Long ago, Francis made a promise, and Arthur is starting to wish he would keep it.
A/N: For aph_fluffathon. This was a really adorable prompt, so I had to pick it up, and it had been a while since I wrote this pair, so it was a good thing all around. Enjoy!
His hiding place wasn’t the best, chilly from the damp earth and dark from the shadows cast by the branches and twisted, massive roots, but Arthur pressed himself closer to the trunk of the tree, shivering. He could hear his name being called, the sound of it getting closer, and he hoped that the little hollow he was nestled in would be enough to keep him from detection. The small rabbit he held was getting restless, but letting it go would mean giving away his position, so Arthur tried to soothe it by petting its ears instead, hoping the sudden silence meant that whoever was looking for him had gone away. But he had no such luck.
“There you are!” Glancing up, Arthur saw Francis peeking his head over one of the roots, smiling brightly. “What in the world are you doing hiding here?”
“Go away,” he muttered, glaring.
“Are you upset?” Francis moved over until he was kneeling in front of Arthur, hands on his thighs. “Were your brothers picking on you again?”
“No.” Arthur sighed, letting go of his rabbit, which immediately hopped over to Francis and sniffed the hem of his tunic. “Not in the normal way.”
“Normal way?” The other frowned, briefly, before turning his attention to the animal nibbling at his clothing. “What did they do?” When Arthur did not answer right away, Francis huffed in frustration and stood, brushing the dirt off his knees.
“Are you leaving?”
“Yes. But you should come with me.” He scooped up the rabbit, and Arthur felt utterly betrayed when the creature sat docilely in Francis’s arms instead of biting him. “Can’t leave you in the woods for the wolves to eat you.”
“I’d think you’d like it if I got eaten.” Frowning, Arthur made his way out of the niche in the tree, but he refused to look at Francis.
“Of course not. Then where would I get my fun?” He laughed, warm and lilting, as he walked down the path that led out of the forest. Once in the field that lay beyond the trees, Arthur plopped himself down in the tall grass, near the shade, and Francis stopped beside him to set the rabbit down. “No retort to that? My, you really must be upset…”
“No,” Arthur murmured, finally. “I’m going to be alone.”
“Alone? We’re all alone at some point.” Francis bent down to pick some of the wildflowers scattered in patches around the field, tying their stems together. It wasn’t as if he could understand. He was of a different cast than Arthur, vibrant and magnetic and colorful. It wasn’t the same.
“I remember being by myself before…when there was no one.” Arthur watched the rabbit chew a blade of grass. “I didn’t like that. I don’t want to think about it happening when I’m older, but my brothers all said it would.”
“They are just trying to rile you…” Francis paused for a long moment, and all Arthur could hear was the rustling of the grass before he felt a soft weight perch on his head. Reaching a hand up, he felt a crown of flowers nestled in his hair, the petals soft and smooth against his fingers. “…but if you’re so worried about it, I’ll marry you when we’re older.”
“Marry me?” Arthur was startled, staring up at the other with wide eyes, before the words hit him fully. “That’s-you-you’re an idiot! You can’t marry me! And what makes you think I want to?”
“It’s just an offer.” Francis’s eyebrows rose, grin smug and amused from Arthur’s reaction. “You said you didn’t want to be alone! So if you haven’t found someone that can put up with you when we are older, and I haven’t found anyone that holds my interest, we can get married. But you have to do something about those eyebrows before we do.”
Arthur’s face was still hot from a blush he told himself was out of anger, but Francis, as infuriating as he was, had always been a bright spot, vivid and compelling. He was someone Arthur copied, someone he fought with, someone he thought about. And, occasionally, he would watch Francis when he was sure the other wasn’t looking, and felt something warm and slightly irritating, a strange mix of relief and happiness and frustration that confused him.
“All right,” he murmured, finally, looking out over the field, little houses on the far hill, and the horizon beyond. “I’ll hold you to that promise.”
*****
Arthur was forced abruptly out of his dream-memory-when he felt his side and arm collide with the cold floor of the bar. Blinking, he tried to reorient himself, but the room was tilting and he was seeing double, two identical pairs of legs clad in expensive Italian wool standing a few feet in front of his nose.
“I warned you that you were leaning over to far on your chair.” With some effort, Arthur rolled over onto his back and squinted up at Francis. “You’ve had too much.”
“Leave me ‘lone.” Even though everything in his vision was rocking back and forth like he was on the deck of a ship, he was thinking about having a beer on the floor just to spite the other. Instead, Francis unceremoniously hoisted him up, arm tight around his waist, and started dragging him out of the bar before Arthur could get his alcohol-laden mind to process the events. “Get off me!”
“Honestly, I don’t listen to what you tell me to do when your sober, much less when you’re like this.” He felt the breath of Francis’s sigh against his cheek. “And don’t you dare vomit on my shoes.”
Once outside, the night air was enough to clear Arthur’s head to the point where objects settled, for the most part. Francis managed to hail a cab when one happened by, and once it came to a stop, he opened the door before lowering Arthur onto the seat. After the door was closed, Arthur dazedly leaned his head against the window and only briefly registered Francis had walked around the cab and slipped in from the other side before the cab started driving.
The ride was in silence, Arthur staring blankly out at the passing streetlamps. Bits and pieces of the memory he had dredged up kept replaying over and over in his mind, clips of conversation and sensations. It was something he’d forgotten-forced down, more like it, since it resurfaced now, when he was utterly pissed.
He thought when the cab reached his house that Francis would leave him to himself for the rest of the night, but after throwing some money to the cabby, Arthur was a little surprised to realize Francis was following him up to the door.
“Don’t you have a hotel to go back to?” Fumbling in his pockets, Arthur finally managed to dig out his keys and clumsily unlock the door.
“And leave you to fend for yourself like this? You’d be drunk dialing me in no time.”
“Fuck you.” He planned on collapsing on the couch and hoping Francis would be gone by morning, but a few steps into the living room and he felt a wave of nausea, stomach lurching. He managed to stumble into the bathroom before heaving, arms perched on the rim of the toilet. Between bouts of vomiting, he heard Francis shuffling around, the sound of his footsteps alternately fading away and growing closer. Raising his head, Arthur saw the other step into the bathroom carrying a glass of water.
“Drink this,” Francis said, setting it within reach. “You know, every time you invite me to go drinking with you, it ends up in a situation like this.”
“Then stop coming along.” Groaning softly, he shifted over enough to grab the glass. When Francis didn’t respond, Arthur took the time to rinse his mouth out before speaking again. “You promised to marry me.”
“Excuse me?” He almost sounded affronted. “If you are bringing up any treaty business now, I’ll have you know-”
“No, no, you daft frog.” Arthur waved his hand around behind his head, weakly. “When we were kids.”
“When we were-oh, that.”
“That?” Looking up, he found Francis’s expression cold and unreadable. “You mean you remember?”
“Yes. I was hoping you had forgotten, or were too ashamed to bring it up again.” Francis sighed, wrapping one arm around his torso as he leaned back against the sink. “The deal to keep you from being lonely.”
“What?”
“Do you want to marry me?” He was exasperated, on edge, and Arthur was too drunk and unwilling to deal with Francis when he was in one of those moods.
“No.” Arthur flushed the toilet before getting to his feet and making his way out of the bathroom.
“Then why bring it up?” Francis asked, gaze following Arthur’s movements. “Calling in a favor because you’re tired of being alone? That’s no good reason to marry someone, Arthur.”
“That’s not what I-” The stairs were daunting in this state, and Arthur was trying his best to ascend them without falling and breaking something, but he stopped halfway up, gathering his thoughts. “You’re like a lamp.”
“A lamp? Not a loveseat or a nice armoire?” His tone was mocking, scathing, and Arthur’s hand tightened on the handrail. “Couldn’t you think of something more fitting?”
“You’re like a lamp. A lamp that is a horrid color with a gaudy shade that I keep thinking to toss out but I never do. It just sits on a table and becomes a part of the room and if someone ever moved it or it was gone I’d notice.”
“You’d notice?” Francis stepped out of the bathroom’s doorway and stood at the foot of the stairs, one eyebrow quirked.
“Stop nitpicking, you know what I mean.” Arthur huffed, turning around to walk the rest of the way up the stairs.
“So you don’t want to marry me because I already fit in with the other furniture?”
“Yes.” He managed to kick off his shoes before staggering over to the bed and falling over onto the mattress. “You kept your promise.” He had, through bouts of fighting and inexplicable tenderness and nights like this, muddled from drink where they’d say endearments an insults between kisses and Arthur would try not to remember the morning after how nice Francis’s hands felt or how his voice caught when he came.
“Did I?” The bed dipped and Arthur turned over to watch Francis settle back on the pillows. “You’ve been a thorn in my side since we were young…I suppose it’s only appropriate.” He draped his arm across Francis’s lap in affirmation, eyes fluttering closed when the other started stroking his hair. “I’ll make breakfast in the morning-if you’re not too hungover and murderous, that is. Go to sleep.”
And Arthur did, fingers loosely curled in the fabric of Francis’s shirt, as comfortable as when he was a child, taking naps in warm, bright fields.
A/N: I really should write these two more, this was fun! The title comes from the song “Winter Winds” by Mumford & Sons.
Author: Melly
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairings: France/England
Warnings: Drinking, language, allusions to sex
Summary: Long ago, Francis made a promise, and Arthur is starting to wish he would keep it.
A/N: For aph_fluffathon. This was a really adorable prompt, so I had to pick it up, and it had been a while since I wrote this pair, so it was a good thing all around. Enjoy!
His hiding place wasn’t the best, chilly from the damp earth and dark from the shadows cast by the branches and twisted, massive roots, but Arthur pressed himself closer to the trunk of the tree, shivering. He could hear his name being called, the sound of it getting closer, and he hoped that the little hollow he was nestled in would be enough to keep him from detection. The small rabbit he held was getting restless, but letting it go would mean giving away his position, so Arthur tried to soothe it by petting its ears instead, hoping the sudden silence meant that whoever was looking for him had gone away. But he had no such luck.
“There you are!” Glancing up, Arthur saw Francis peeking his head over one of the roots, smiling brightly. “What in the world are you doing hiding here?”
“Go away,” he muttered, glaring.
“Are you upset?” Francis moved over until he was kneeling in front of Arthur, hands on his thighs. “Were your brothers picking on you again?”
“No.” Arthur sighed, letting go of his rabbit, which immediately hopped over to Francis and sniffed the hem of his tunic. “Not in the normal way.”
“Normal way?” The other frowned, briefly, before turning his attention to the animal nibbling at his clothing. “What did they do?” When Arthur did not answer right away, Francis huffed in frustration and stood, brushing the dirt off his knees.
“Are you leaving?”
“Yes. But you should come with me.” He scooped up the rabbit, and Arthur felt utterly betrayed when the creature sat docilely in Francis’s arms instead of biting him. “Can’t leave you in the woods for the wolves to eat you.”
“I’d think you’d like it if I got eaten.” Frowning, Arthur made his way out of the niche in the tree, but he refused to look at Francis.
“Of course not. Then where would I get my fun?” He laughed, warm and lilting, as he walked down the path that led out of the forest. Once in the field that lay beyond the trees, Arthur plopped himself down in the tall grass, near the shade, and Francis stopped beside him to set the rabbit down. “No retort to that? My, you really must be upset…”
“No,” Arthur murmured, finally. “I’m going to be alone.”
“Alone? We’re all alone at some point.” Francis bent down to pick some of the wildflowers scattered in patches around the field, tying their stems together. It wasn’t as if he could understand. He was of a different cast than Arthur, vibrant and magnetic and colorful. It wasn’t the same.
“I remember being by myself before…when there was no one.” Arthur watched the rabbit chew a blade of grass. “I didn’t like that. I don’t want to think about it happening when I’m older, but my brothers all said it would.”
“They are just trying to rile you…” Francis paused for a long moment, and all Arthur could hear was the rustling of the grass before he felt a soft weight perch on his head. Reaching a hand up, he felt a crown of flowers nestled in his hair, the petals soft and smooth against his fingers. “…but if you’re so worried about it, I’ll marry you when we’re older.”
“Marry me?” Arthur was startled, staring up at the other with wide eyes, before the words hit him fully. “That’s-you-you’re an idiot! You can’t marry me! And what makes you think I want to?”
“It’s just an offer.” Francis’s eyebrows rose, grin smug and amused from Arthur’s reaction. “You said you didn’t want to be alone! So if you haven’t found someone that can put up with you when we are older, and I haven’t found anyone that holds my interest, we can get married. But you have to do something about those eyebrows before we do.”
Arthur’s face was still hot from a blush he told himself was out of anger, but Francis, as infuriating as he was, had always been a bright spot, vivid and compelling. He was someone Arthur copied, someone he fought with, someone he thought about. And, occasionally, he would watch Francis when he was sure the other wasn’t looking, and felt something warm and slightly irritating, a strange mix of relief and happiness and frustration that confused him.
“All right,” he murmured, finally, looking out over the field, little houses on the far hill, and the horizon beyond. “I’ll hold you to that promise.”
*****
Arthur was forced abruptly out of his dream-memory-when he felt his side and arm collide with the cold floor of the bar. Blinking, he tried to reorient himself, but the room was tilting and he was seeing double, two identical pairs of legs clad in expensive Italian wool standing a few feet in front of his nose.
“I warned you that you were leaning over to far on your chair.” With some effort, Arthur rolled over onto his back and squinted up at Francis. “You’ve had too much.”
“Leave me ‘lone.” Even though everything in his vision was rocking back and forth like he was on the deck of a ship, he was thinking about having a beer on the floor just to spite the other. Instead, Francis unceremoniously hoisted him up, arm tight around his waist, and started dragging him out of the bar before Arthur could get his alcohol-laden mind to process the events. “Get off me!”
“Honestly, I don’t listen to what you tell me to do when your sober, much less when you’re like this.” He felt the breath of Francis’s sigh against his cheek. “And don’t you dare vomit on my shoes.”
Once outside, the night air was enough to clear Arthur’s head to the point where objects settled, for the most part. Francis managed to hail a cab when one happened by, and once it came to a stop, he opened the door before lowering Arthur onto the seat. After the door was closed, Arthur dazedly leaned his head against the window and only briefly registered Francis had walked around the cab and slipped in from the other side before the cab started driving.
The ride was in silence, Arthur staring blankly out at the passing streetlamps. Bits and pieces of the memory he had dredged up kept replaying over and over in his mind, clips of conversation and sensations. It was something he’d forgotten-forced down, more like it, since it resurfaced now, when he was utterly pissed.
He thought when the cab reached his house that Francis would leave him to himself for the rest of the night, but after throwing some money to the cabby, Arthur was a little surprised to realize Francis was following him up to the door.
“Don’t you have a hotel to go back to?” Fumbling in his pockets, Arthur finally managed to dig out his keys and clumsily unlock the door.
“And leave you to fend for yourself like this? You’d be drunk dialing me in no time.”
“Fuck you.” He planned on collapsing on the couch and hoping Francis would be gone by morning, but a few steps into the living room and he felt a wave of nausea, stomach lurching. He managed to stumble into the bathroom before heaving, arms perched on the rim of the toilet. Between bouts of vomiting, he heard Francis shuffling around, the sound of his footsteps alternately fading away and growing closer. Raising his head, Arthur saw the other step into the bathroom carrying a glass of water.
“Drink this,” Francis said, setting it within reach. “You know, every time you invite me to go drinking with you, it ends up in a situation like this.”
“Then stop coming along.” Groaning softly, he shifted over enough to grab the glass. When Francis didn’t respond, Arthur took the time to rinse his mouth out before speaking again. “You promised to marry me.”
“Excuse me?” He almost sounded affronted. “If you are bringing up any treaty business now, I’ll have you know-”
“No, no, you daft frog.” Arthur waved his hand around behind his head, weakly. “When we were kids.”
“When we were-oh, that.”
“That?” Looking up, he found Francis’s expression cold and unreadable. “You mean you remember?”
“Yes. I was hoping you had forgotten, or were too ashamed to bring it up again.” Francis sighed, wrapping one arm around his torso as he leaned back against the sink. “The deal to keep you from being lonely.”
“What?”
“Do you want to marry me?” He was exasperated, on edge, and Arthur was too drunk and unwilling to deal with Francis when he was in one of those moods.
“No.” Arthur flushed the toilet before getting to his feet and making his way out of the bathroom.
“Then why bring it up?” Francis asked, gaze following Arthur’s movements. “Calling in a favor because you’re tired of being alone? That’s no good reason to marry someone, Arthur.”
“That’s not what I-” The stairs were daunting in this state, and Arthur was trying his best to ascend them without falling and breaking something, but he stopped halfway up, gathering his thoughts. “You’re like a lamp.”
“A lamp? Not a loveseat or a nice armoire?” His tone was mocking, scathing, and Arthur’s hand tightened on the handrail. “Couldn’t you think of something more fitting?”
“You’re like a lamp. A lamp that is a horrid color with a gaudy shade that I keep thinking to toss out but I never do. It just sits on a table and becomes a part of the room and if someone ever moved it or it was gone I’d notice.”
“You’d notice?” Francis stepped out of the bathroom’s doorway and stood at the foot of the stairs, one eyebrow quirked.
“Stop nitpicking, you know what I mean.” Arthur huffed, turning around to walk the rest of the way up the stairs.
“So you don’t want to marry me because I already fit in with the other furniture?”
“Yes.” He managed to kick off his shoes before staggering over to the bed and falling over onto the mattress. “You kept your promise.” He had, through bouts of fighting and inexplicable tenderness and nights like this, muddled from drink where they’d say endearments an insults between kisses and Arthur would try not to remember the morning after how nice Francis’s hands felt or how his voice caught when he came.
“Did I?” The bed dipped and Arthur turned over to watch Francis settle back on the pillows. “You’ve been a thorn in my side since we were young…I suppose it’s only appropriate.” He draped his arm across Francis’s lap in affirmation, eyes fluttering closed when the other started stroking his hair. “I’ll make breakfast in the morning-if you’re not too hungover and murderous, that is. Go to sleep.”
And Arthur did, fingers loosely curled in the fabric of Francis’s shirt, as comfortable as when he was a child, taking naps in warm, bright fields.
A/N: I really should write these two more, this was fun! The title comes from the song “Winter Winds” by Mumford & Sons.