[fanfiction] Divine Intervention 8/9
Chapter 8
Francis sighs as he walks into the small home, shivering and shaking his head free of the water clinging to the stringy strands. He is exhausted, body weighed down with tiredness of trying to find a job and mind heavy from the emotional stress brought on being depended on by the other two - Antonio still being jobless, Gilbert only being able to busk.
Slumping up the stairs after ghosting into the kitchen for a quick glass of wine, the Frenchman brought a hand up to his chin, feeling the scruff there, longer than could be considered elegantly careless. He would have to get up early to use the bathroom before his two roommates got there first, hogging it for themselves and using up all the hot water.
Now feeling even more tired, knowing that he was barely going to get any sleep, Francis opens the door to his room. Inside, Gilbert and Antonio are asleep on his large bed, not even under the covers, both soaking wet and snoring loudly. The Frenchman scowls at the pair, remembering how they still hadn’t bought their own beds despite living in the house for a whole month.
He considers rousing them for a moment, demanding them to go downstairs and sleep on the couch like the lazy bums they are but as he watches Antonio sniffles lightly, curling closer to Gilbert who gives a grunting snore, splayed over the bed taking up at least half the mattress.
The Frenchman smiles to himself - only when they sleep do Antonio and Gilbert suddenly look like they are young again - and wanders over to the bed. He pulls off their muddy shoes, humming to himself as he brushes a soaking curl away from the Spaniard’s face, delighting in the way the eye twitched slightly and he nuzzled closer to the albino.
He knows that he shouldn’t be so easily swayed, but Francis can do nothing but smile at his two best friends as he pulls the covers over them. As soon as he takes a step away, a pale hand reaches out, closing around his wrist. “C’mere…” Gilbert mutters quietly, not opening his eyes, “We were waiting for y-y-you…” The last word is captured in a yawn and the pale hand falls from his arm, flopping back onto the bed.
Francis sighs. He knows that Antonio and Gilbert are going to be sick -he knows- and he knows that it is he that will have to care for them but somehow he can’t bring himself to mind. He lies down on the bed, closing his eyes. Two bodies shuffle around him, adapting to the newest addition. Antonio’s arm comes to rest across his chest as the Spaniard grins in his sleep. The Prussian’s arm rests somewhere against his abdomen while the pale face buries itself in the sodden blond hair, sighing out heavily.
He feels like a child again, on one of their many outings during the warm summers when one couldn’t survive living inside. Instead of mapping the sky with his eyes, instead Francis’ blue eyes stare at the seat of knots in the wooden ceiling. Instead of the warm and heavy smell of a makeshift campfire, Francis breathes in the smell of his detergent heavy in his sheets, the cologne Gilbert insists on wearing and the spice of Antonio’s aftershave. Instead of the quiet whisper of the forest or the dying crackle of the fire or the gentle break of a twig as the white beast they’ve hunted their lives watches over them, Francis only hears the drunken cries from the college house across the street, the rumble of the odd car passing underneath his window and the hum of the numbers glowing on his clock.
As he lies there, the moonlight turning to a golden, rose tinted light, Francis can’t help but smile to himself. This is where he belongs and he wouldn’t have it any other way.
-
Francis stared at him from his position on the bed. The angel had already tugged his shirt off, revealing his thin, toned body. He seemed to glow slightly, though that could be entirely due to the streetlight blazing behind him. Some would say that it is too much too fast, but Francis was never one waiting. Life had already given him a second chance; he was not about to waste it.
Advancing on the bed, Arthur’s hands nervously played together, fingers running over the steeples of his knuckles. “We do this and I never see you again.” Crawling on the bed, following Francis as he slid further up the bed, Arthur started down at the Frenchman. His arms sat on either side of Francis’ torso as he licked his lips -a bad habit.
Francis reached up with a hand, gently tracing Arthur’s cheek. The angel leaned into it, brushing his lips over the palm as it led him closer to Francis. “I realize that,” He murmured, “But I can’t stand to see you look so sad.”
Arthur hovered above him, their lips a breath away. “So this is it?”
“I guess.”
Closing the distance, Arthur leaned forward, catching Francis’ mouth with his. Hands slid around Francis’ neck, pulling him into a strong kiss, Arthur’s tongue already sliding into his mouth. Moaning quietly, Francis allowed the angel to dominate the kiss, his fingers tracing along the thin side before creeping onto his back.
The scars the mortal had admired since he had first seen them were rough under his wandering touch. Arthur breathed in sharply, breaking away as the fingers ghosted over his skin. He reached back with one of his hands and grabbed the Frenchman’s wrist, lifting it to his mouth, placing deft kisses along the elegant fingers. As the thumb was decorated, he placed the hand back on his hip, moving down to once again capture Francis’ lips.
Instead of merely sitting there, Francis’ hand slipped into the tight pockets of Arthur’s pants, pulling Arthur flush against him, heartbeats mixing: erratic and wild. One hand cupping, the other wrestled itself into the short hair, clutching tightly and forced more of their skin together.
Francis moaned against the lips as they left, instead kissing the trench of his neck. “You know I’m doing this so I can go back,” a voice muttered, hot against his skin. He felt the teeth bite and the lips pull, leaving a burning red mark.
“D-do not say su-such things.” The mortal’s voice was ragged as the hands nestle against his hips, travelling over his trembling and taunt stomach. The mouth parted from his neck, latching instead on his collarbone, softer, unsure of itself. “Arthur?”
Emerald eyes, hazy, lost and guilty looked at Francis. “H-How can’t you hate me?” While one hand reached down fumbling open the Frenchman’s pants, pushing them down past his hips. Fingers caressed, teased, touched, felt, cared and nudged as the other hand reached up, touching the Frenchman’s face, thumb rubbing the tender spot behind his jaw.
Arching up into the hand, whimpering slightly, Francis attempted a smile, weak and forgiving. “I cannot h-hate you of all people,” their cheeks brush, Francis’ rough against Arthur’s smooth as the angel worked and Francis already is panting, hot and yearning in the cool hand.
The Frenchman’s boxers are soon cast to the ground, Arthur’s own not far behind as he positioned himself above Francis. Fingers twist inside of him and the angel’s breath was in his ear mumbling something like is that alright? but hands tangled the chopped blond hair and a low moan ghosted from the swollen lips. “F-fine.”
Moments passed where heartbeats grew fast, Francis’ breath grew more ragged and shallow and Arthur claimed more of the pale skin as his own. Neither could wait much longer and as Arthur drew back, kissing Francis again, he pressed in, breath hitching against their mouths.
The movements are short, shuddering as Arthur moved against him. Francis’ fingers dug into the scars, dragging in the desert of broken skin. Each thrust brought them closer; sinking deeper as Francis voice mumbled the angel’s name over and over, losing meaning in the gasps rolling from his lips.
“A fool.” Arthur breathed against his mouth, eyes hooded, far away and near enough to drive into Francis’, “You fell in love with a selfish fool.” The words are steady as the body shuddered, losing control as they crash together. Trembling fingers intertwined, gripping onto each other for comfort, for release.
A shivering moan, muscles clench (pressing into the bed, making it whine) and mouths press together for one last time before bodies come apart. Blue eyes finally open and stared up the angel who panted down at him weakly. Collapsing, face burying into the crook of the Frenchman’s neck as if made to fit there, Arthur let his breath out, long and slow.
Turning to the side, Francis curled the Brit to him, wrapping a single arm around him, letting his heart find itself again. There is one last kiss, lazy and loving. A fool. But the reprimand is quiet and half-hearted, finding itself to be praise. Arthur is asleep long before the Frenchman - every inch of him still burns, from pain and the pleasure still weakly bolting through his body.
Francis couldn’t sleep. Or he really didn’t want to, for fear that as soon as he closed his eyes, the man curled against him would disappear. Moonlight replacing the shuttering streetlight, Francis opened his eyes and looking down to savour the quiet and warm feeling of someone against him.
The thin side rose and fell in time with the slow and quiet breathing, while shaggy dun gold lay about his head in a wild splay. Absently, Francis tucked the hair behind Arthur’s ear. His fingers continued to move, sliding down the neck, feeling for a pulse he knew wasn’t there, along the shoulders where ugly scars marred skin and down the arm, stopping only to weave their fingers.
Snuffling in his sleep, Arthur shivered slightly, his hand gripping Francis’ as he shifted closer. The Frenchman sighed, the tiny body cool against his flushed skin. His eyelids were beginning to droop and he could already feel his mind drifting away. “I love you Arthur.” He said, placing a delicate kiss on the angel’s neck, “So much.”
I love you too.
Francis awoke the next morning to an empty bed.
<< Chapter 7/Chapter 9>>
Author's Note
Uh... not much to say. Probably one of the harder chapters to write... Since I started this story, this is the one scene I've been dreading, but at the same time, there is an enormous amount of relief I feel.
I'm considering making a FST to this story, anyone interested?
and in case you didn't see, m_dono spoiled me...
