[fanfiction] Little Mishaps 7/8
Title: Little Mishaps 7/8
Author: twilightrose2
Rating: K
Genre: Romance/Comedy
Warnings: little!Francis
Summary: Arthur didn’t mean to change France into a child, but he was never quite himself when he was drunk. Until then, Arthur was going to be relearning the joys of fatherhood until he figured out how to change him back. FrUK -notshota-
Note: In which Arthur sleeps.
Chapter 7
Spain and Prussia stood in his doorway and Arthur quickly slammed it, leaning against it and sighing heavily, rubbing his face. Why them? Did God really think a small version of his lover/enemy wasn't enough, so he threw in the two most annoying pricks on the face of the earth in as well?
"Artie," came Prussia's voice followed by the banging of his fist on the door, "C'mon, let us in, we know you're there. And if you don't, we're totally going to break in through the window!"
"Or use the key you keep under your doormat, sí?" Antonio supplied and Arthur heard them beginning to root around outside.
He quickly pulled open the door, glaring that pair. "Alright, alright," he consented, stepping aside and letting the two amble inside, shutting the door behind him, praying that the sanctity of his home remained as it was.
The two nations worked their way into his living room, Gilbert flopping down on a couch, his foot narrowly avoiding knocking over a priceless vase Yao had given Arthur for his birthday while Spain was looking around at the artefacts around the room, frowning hard at an old cutlass mounted on the wall.
Arthur was about to not offer them drinks when he felt something brush by his hip and looked down to see Francis standing there, clinging to his leg, blue eyes watching his two friends nervously.
"Bonjour," he murmured, not quite moving past Arthur despite their disagreement not minutes before. England couldn't help but wonder why.
Then he noticed the gleam in Antonio's eyes as he leered, almost greedily, down at the little nation. "Francia~" he cooed, and England felt the fist tighten in his pant leg, "You are so cute!"
Arthur stayed in front of Francis, petting his head. "Hands to yourself, Spain," he warned, leading France to the couch beside Gilbert and sitting him down.
"Don't worry Artie," the albino picked up Francis, putting him on his lap, tugging at his hair, laughing, "I'll make sure that no awkward child groping goes on."
Trying to not pound his head into the nearest wall, England nodded wearily. "Just… Be gentle Gilbert," he advised, seeing the way Francis was swatting at his hands, trying to deter the albino's prodding touch, "He's just a child."
Gilbert merely laughed, hand finding his hips. "Children are tough!" he said, laughing, "Look at me! I was just a kid and I still kicked half of Europe's ass."
"Too bad you did not continue when you got older," Antonio teased, sitting down next to Francis and Gilbert, earning a punch in the arm from the Prussian. They all quietly looked at Arthur who was still standing in the entrance leading to the kitchen, stuck between keeping an eye on Francis and getting a drink for himself in an effort to emphasise how much he didn't want them there.
Finally deciding going into the kitchen for les than five minutes couldn't hurt, Arthur slipped away, starting to prepare tea, listening to the conversation with only half-an-ear, mostly just waiting for any bingo words that would alert him to the imminent Spanish invasion of the small nation.
Just as he was warming the teapot, preparing to pour in the boiling water, Arthur heard Gilbert speak. "Antonio, stop that, you're going to give him awkward child arousal."
Within thirty seconds, Arthur had locked the two outside into the dusky-streets and taken the extra key from under the mat (he would hide it under one of potted roses later). Grumbling to himself as he walked around the home, securing all the locks on the windows, Arthur sighed, looking out at the approaching storm, feeling the rage and swelling clouds in his bones.
Francis had returned upstairs and the events of the week had finally taken their toll on Arthur. As thunder rumbled and growled threateningly, Arthur flopped down on his couch, opening a bottle of rum and pouring himself a small glass, drinking and finding he still couldn't relax.
Lightning smashed through the sky, and a particularly loud peal of thunder seemed to shake the dust from the rafter of Arthur's house. He took another drink, closing his eyes, trying to sleep. His arm draped over his face and he listened to the pitter-patter of rain against the glass, grinning as he imagined Spain and Prussia stuck in the rain, served them right- a hand tugged at his sweater.
Eyes sliding open, Arthur frowned at the Frenchman clinging to his sweater, face buried away in the knit material, his arm tight around the old stuffed bunny. The tiny body trembled. "A-Angleterre…" he whispered.
Arthur quietly lifted Francis up and onto the couch, hushing him quietly and hugging him close. The storm raged on causing Francis to twitch and jump terribly with each crash of thunder. Humming to him, curling around his tiny body, Arthur kissed the Frenchman's ear.
Through the night, Francis managed to get sandwiched between the back of the couch as England's chest, starting to doze, his head hidden in the crook of Arthur's neck. Starting to sleep, a brief thought went through Arthur's darkening mind. Although drinking didn't do the trick and the storm around him merely kept him thinking, the warmth beside him was the only tick to make him fall asleep.
A dreamless sleep passed and Arthur shifted awake, hearing birds outside and trying to shift, but finding himself to be too heavy. Opening his eyes, he sat up weakly and looked down to see what exactly was keeping him on the couch.
France was strew across him, no longer a child.
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Chapter 1|Chapter 2|Chapter 3|Chapter 4|Chapter 5| Chapter 6